And If That Diamond Ring Turns Brass
by ImJessieTR
Summary: A Tinseltown story. A new marriage has suddenly gone awry when politics butts in. The marriage is between two males, if you didn't know. And a child is left struggling to figure out if love truly transcends all.
1. Chapter 1

WARNING

_This fic has the Tinseltown characters, which are owned by Henson Alternative and was on Logo. Either you like that abandoned show or you don't. However, given current events, I thought it may be worth revisiting. In the Comeback King Saga, I reveal that Bobby and Samson got married. Bobby was ecstatic. However …_

END OF WARNING

The Caucasian teenaged boy with short mousey brown hair stood in the long white limo, letting the warm summer breeze sweep his emotions away.

"Sieda giù nell'automobile!" the limo driver shouted.

The teen sat down and frowned. "What did you say? I couldn't hear you."

The limo driver growled, "I _said_, sit down in the car." He wiped some ketchup off of his brown goatee and chomped on a hamburger. "Christ, Foster – it's not your fault, you know."

Foster crossed his arms and leaned back against the dark gray seat. "I never said it _was_, Arturo," he shot back. "I just don't see why I gotta go see _her_ anyway. It's not like she wants me."

Arturo shrugged. "It's just until things get worked out." Poor kid, he thought to himself. Arturo, a Hungarian-Italian, was used to being a valued employee one moment and an "evil immigrant" the next. He caught on pretty fast that American love was extremely fickle. However, it seemed wrong to drag a poor kid into adult problems. "I thought you liked her."

Foster shrugged. "New York's really not my thing. Why can't I stay in California?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.

Arturo sighed. "If she really hated you, why would she let you hang out in her place?"

Foster rolled his eyes. "She's practically a grandmother. Forty-eight? What do I have in common with her?"

"About twenty-three chromosomes, if I recall," Arturo joked.

"You know what I mean," Foster grumbled. He bit his lip, his fingers trembling slightly. His voice quieted. "Out of every conceivable reason for this to happen, this is the one that's the most confusing." His life had never been "normal", even by Californian standards. However, this newest change in the winds seemed so perplexing. What was their problem, anyway?

Arturo smiled, trying to keep the mood light. "Well, what's wrong with New York?"

Foster shrugged. "I dunno. Broadway's just some dumping ground for actors afraid of money."

Arturo laughed, slapping the steering wheel. "I can see who _you've _been talking to, right, Foster? Bobby can't get over that bad date in the seventies when a famous starship captain rejected him." He chuckled. "And that maiale diva just gets on his nerves. He thinks he can out-act her any day, anywhere."

Foster cracked a small smile.

Arturo noticed. He adjusted his amber sunglasses and shrugged. "Hey, don't worry, Foster. Samson's not gonna put up with this. You'll be back home in no time, okay?"

"Yeah."

* * *

Foster stepped off the plane, listening to his iPod Nano, preferring to stare out the windows rather than look for her.

"Foster?" a middle-aged female voice asked cautiously.

Foster turned around and saw a tall athletic middle-aged woman with graying dark hair. She wore a tight red T-shirt and faded jean shorts. Foster's eyes widened. "What are you wearing?"

The woman smiled and flicked her hair. "Do you like it? I didn't want to pick you up in a business suit. I want us to have fun."

Foster cringed. "You're like, ready for Social Security," he told her warily. "You're not gonna try to act half your age or something, are you?"

The woman rolled her eyes. Suddenly she snapped her fingers. "I _knew_ I forgot something … I so totally should have remembered to bring my cane to the airport."

Foster sighed, avoiding her eyes. "Whatever." He started walking towards the exit. "Let's just get this over with, Mom."

She stopped him, turning him around. "You can call me Jenny, if you want. I want to be your friend."

"Not my mother?" Foster retorted bitterly.

Jenny frowned. "You _have_ parents. Of _course_ I like it when you call me Mom, but I also understand there are some issues you need to deal with."

He shoved her away. "Yeah … did the Dr. Feel thing already, Mom. I'm hungry." He started to walk away, but noticed she stood where she was. He stopped, sighing in exasperation. "For God's sake, Mom – I'm happy to see you too. Can we _go_ now?"

* * *

Bobby Vegan minimized the solitaire window on his PDA and clicked on the GPS chip he implanted in Foster's tote bag. He was in Manhattan. The five-foot-tall overweight pig smiled briefly before frowning, his eyes squinting.

Oh … they would pay for this.

* * *

Samson Knight tapped his three-fingered hoof on the table, reading some tabloids. Well, _trying_ to read them. Ever since Foster left the house, things had been frustratingly … _quiet_. The strapping bull sat in the chair, bare-chested, with his Armani suit slacks on. Bobby hadn't been home for days. He didn't even see Foster off.

Typical.

Still, he realized Bobby must be taking this worse than he thought. If only he would answer his stupid phone.


	2. Chapter 2

Jenny stared at Foster, who reclined on the couch, watching her new 60-inch plasma screen television.

Foster glanced at her briefly. "Yep. I _do_ plan to sit here all day and watch television."

Jenny opened her mouth to say something, but then started to doubt herself. He needed to work out his emotions at his own pace, but watching him just sit there was driving her insane. It had been a week since he arrived in Manhattan, and they hadn't done much of anything. It's not like they were well-bonded. Jenny tried hard to make most of the major holidays, but until recently, Foster just simply wasn't her son, not legally, anyway.

_The year was 1994. Her father had recently died, and Jenny was terrified. Here in her lap was a tiny baby, crying. She rooted around in her tote bag for a bottle and gave it to him, watching him take a couple of sips, only to push the bottle away and start wailing again. The father, her husband, had been shipped off to Kuwait._

_He never came back._

_She had lost her father and her husband, all in one year._

_And the baby wouldn't stop crying._

"_Well, why not?" asked a deep male voice. "It's a cherished franchise with loads of marketing potential."_

"_Oh, it's got loads, all right," protested a grittier higher-pitched male voice. "Besides, you look more the part than I do, anyway."_

_Jenny looked up to see a large upright pig and an upright brown bull. Muppets weren't that hard to spot in Manhattan. What with Sesame Street's educational programs and Kermit's Muppet Show going strong, the city was awash in talking creatures of all types._

_The deep-voiced bull frowned at the pig as the bus they were on began to move again. "All you have to argue is that a REAL non-human would make better sense than a human in a costume."_

_The pig glanced at the bull like he had lost his mind. "And what happens when I have to look HUMAN, huh? I've heard men are pigs, but that's stretching it … AND it's insulting to pigs everywhere." He scoffed. "Why would a self-respecting pig go for some skinny brunette human?" He spotted Jenny and the baby and gasped in horror, covering his mouth with his hands. "Oh, I'm SORRY! I didn't – I mean – I'm not specist or anything! You look like you already GOT your bases covered!"_

"_Bobby!"_

"_Well, she DOES!" Bobby protested. "I'm just trying to apolo – OOH, look, Samson, a BABY!" He leaned over and started making stupid faces at the now-curious child, while Samson rolled his eyes._

_The child started to giggle, reaching up to pat the pig's snout._

"Is there anything I can get for you?" Jenny asked Foster in a hopeful-yet-worried tone.

"Nope," he shrugged. "Don't you have some work to do?"

"Don't _you_?"

"I got fired from that JP Morgan job," he replied. "It was a waste, anyway." He turned and looked at her. "You don't even have beer."

Jenny's jaw dropped. "You're _eighteen_! You can't even _have_ beer!"

Foster shook his head. "No, you can't have beer in front of a _cop_. And youtubing a bender is just stupid. It's like _asking_ to get arrested."

"It's illegal for _me_ to buy you beer, too, Foster."

"But it's not illegal for you to buy beer for _yourself_."

"So you want me to get arrested for negligence?"

Foster smiled. "Are you planning on telling the cashier? Or your landlord?" He chuckled. "Mom – I'm not some alcoholic. I just like the taste every once in awhile."

"Is that what they've been teaching you?" she said (a little more loudly than she wanted).

"Who's 'they'?" he sniped back. He jumped up off the couch and pointed at her angrily. "My parents were weird and totally off-the-wall … but they treated me like an equal! _They_ raised me! _They_ said they'd be there for me! And they _were_ – until the government told them no. Now I'm stuck here in Manhattan with a mother who's taking care of me as a _favor_ to my _parents_, and there's no telling when I can go back. All those people back home gasped about 'the children', while they have no problems whatsoever with ruining my life! What if that frog and pig you're friends with tried to have kids, huh? How would _they_ like it if they were told all those things from people too bitter to love their _own_ relationships?"

"They were," replied Jenny softly.

Foster scrunched up his face in confusion. "Those two are like Gen-Xer _gods_," Foster retorted. "How can anyone tell them what to do?"

Jenny shrugged. "They aren't married – because they were told their marriage was invalid. They aren't human – so the state said they weren't married."

Foster scoffed. "What about those non-humans on Sesame Street? That big hairy elephant thing's parents even got a _divorce_. So, not just humans can marry."

Jenny shrugged again, her voice wavering. "I don't know how to explain it. All I know is what Kermit told me."

"Maybe he's lying," Foster offered defiantly. "Maybe he just knew that if he left her at the altar, she'd backslap him all the way to the other side of the globe." He flopped back on the couch. "My parents would never do that. Bobby _alone_ is like an immovable object when it comes to the status quo. He had a sweet deal going and now it's ruined by people who can't just butt out."


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning: Lots of innuendos in this chapter.**

**Author's Note: Bare Necessities is a Disney song.**

Samson awoke to the sounds of glass breaking. He bolted out of bed, put on his blue robe with a small black ivy print on it, and ran down to the kitchen. It was dark, as it was supposed to be at this time of night. Even so, he heard an angry grunting noise and saw the shadow, glinting somewhat in the moonlight coming in from the window, coming straight toward him.

He ducked.

The bottle of Shiraz smashed behind him, soaking his hooves. "What the?"

He clicked on the light.

Bobby, disheveled and somewhat musty, stumbled over pots and pans on the floor. "Why bother doing _anything_, huh?" he slurred. He wobbled some as he approached a stunned Samson. "You – you provide, you nurture, you broaden the kid's horizons so he doesn't end up some hick loser from some God-awful cesspool like Bogen County or something. And for _what_?"

Samson could only stare at Bobby wide-eyed, unable to say a word.

"Huh?" Bobby continued angrily. "You take the little rugrat the humans throw away … and you expect some 'Bare Necessities'-type musical thing … but _oh no_! Heaven _forbid_ the kid have an atypical upbringing. How is it fair for wolves or gorillas to take care of kids … but the rest of us _can't_?"

Samson raised his hooved hands. "We'll get this straightened out," he commented softly. "I promise." He scratched his head. "We'll move to Canada."

"HA!" Bobby retorted, his voice clearing (and his head). "_Canada_? Let's just say our definitions of 'Canadian bacon' _differ_ somewhat."

"Spain?"

Bobby lowered a single eyelid and put his hands on his hips. "_Spain_?" he asked dryly. "You don't strike me as the type who enjoys getting rushed by throngs of humans down narrow streets, only to be stabbed repeatedly so they can prove some macho thing." He stroked his chin thoughtfully, with a playful smile. "Hmmm…."

Samson rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Never mind." He sighed. "Come to bed. Well, take a _shower_, and _then_ come to bed. We'll look at our options in the morning."

"I don't wanna," Bobby grumbled, looking away.

Samson nodded. "Fine. You can just stagger to the mayor's office in the middle of the night and magically expect to be treated like normal."

Bobby glared at Samson. "_News flash_, Burger Boy – I'm not normal!"

Samson clenched his jaw and glared back. "Don't … call … me … Burger … Boy."

Bobby scoffed. "Or you'll do what? Gore me and turn me into sausage?"

"That can be arranged."

"You're assuming I wouldn't _like_ it!"

"_You're_ assuming --."

Bobby pushed his way past Samson. "You know what? As amusingly vile as this conversation is bound to go, I've got to get some decent shut-eye. See ya tomorrow."

Samson looked at the clock on the stove. 3AM. He sat at the kitchen table for an hour, just staring out the window silently. He could hear Bobby snoring upstairs. He finally got up and grabbed his cell phone and pushed Lena's number on speed dial.

"Yes? Sammy, what is it?" asked a tired quasi-French-accented voice.

He didn't speak for a few seconds. Suddenly, he sighed. "I need you to come over. We need to talk.

* * *

Lena was a pale Caucasian woman with bags under here eyes. She was thin and had short dark scruffy hair. She wore red silk pajamas under a white silk robe. "What is zis all about, Sammy?" she asked as she cleaned up the spilled wine.

Samson rested his head against the kitchen table. "Did Bobby stay over at your place?"

Lena rolled her eyes. "I said no ze first sev'ral times you asked me zat, Sammy."

"I just don't know what to do."

Lena stopped, dropped the sopping rag, and went over and placed her arm around his broad shoulders. "Look, Sammy – Hollywood drops fads more often than anyone else on ze planet, you know? You two aren't the only ones affected by a bunch of stuck-up goodie-goodies."

"Yeah, Foster's life is pretty much ruined, too."

"Foster's eighteen, yeah? Wasn't he going to be moving out anyway?"

"That's not the point. Besides, he wanted to stick around so he could afford college."

Lena smiled and sat down beside him. "Oh, zat's so _sweet_ of you!" She shook her head. "Most parents would not be so kind."

Samson smiled finally. He looked at her, his eyes pleading. "Why can't anyone else see that? I mean, I was shocked with him drinking beer – even if it _was_ light beer – and everything, hon, but I don't see how Foster's upbringing was all that different from millions of other children."

Lena patted him on the back. "Zey are jealous, Sammy. Zose other children are more zan disgusting, and ze only thing ze parents can do is blame someone else for zeir own problems." She shrugged. "No one wants to take responsibility for zeir own lives anymore. It's so sad." She lifted his snout and forced him to look at her. "Now, how is Foster?"

Samson calmed a little. Even though he no longer loved her that way, Lena was an amazing woman. "You know teenagers," he told her with a half-hearted smile, "they have difficulty adjusting sometimes."

Lena frowned. "Oh? He is not getting along with his mother?"

Samson shook his head and pulled away slightly. "Jenny's nice and all, but she's a little _too_ traditional for Foster's taste. I suggested taking him over to that theater Jenny likes to work with, but she says he doesn't want to do anything with her. She's taking it kinda personally. I tried offering some links to some teen psychobabble stuff, but Jenny said she could take care of it herself. She said she knows people – whatever that means." He glanced at his former wife. "Lena, is it wrong to want two things at once?"

"Sammy …."

"I _mean_, I want Foster to learn to like, or even love, his mother, but I also want him to come home."

"Oh."

"What should I do?"

Lena shrugged. "I dunno, Sammy. I was never into ze whole 'kid' thing, personally. You and Bobby are definitely braver zan I am about zat."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: I still don't own any of the characters, not even the one being introduced here.**

Foster walked into the hospital lobby, a giant room overlooking a huge garden out front. It had been his idea to go there. He didn't like his mother's friends, all of whom would just like to cheer him up.

He didn't want to be cheered up.

The hospital was filled with people (and other beings) who were down on their luck. They were suffering from everything running from the common cold to severe, life-threatening injury. These were people who knew what it felt like to be ruined.

And so, he had decided to volunteer.

Yesterday he came across a thirties-ish Caucasian woman with a gaunt face and stringy black hair falling unceremoniously past her shoulders. She did not speak to anyone, did not acknowledge anyone … _ever_. There were whisperings of domestic abuse. She didn't even have a name.

Foster spotted her as she sat in her wheelchair in the lobby near the large glass windows, staring at the children playing outside. Her facial expression was still that of fatigued apathy, like she was a beaten dog.

He smiled and sat next to her in a nearby chair. "Hey, how's it going?" he asked, cheerfully, but in that "I feel like a mess, too" type of way.

She didn't respond, breathing ever so slowly.

He followed her gaze. "Doesn't it just get under your skin, the way they flaunt their happiness like that?" he asked a bit more seriously. "They don't have a single care in the world."

"Child," she croaked finally.

Foster's eyes lit up in shock. "Whoa … you can _talk_ now? That's … that's … _great_! This is the first time I've heard your voice!" He chuckled nervously. "I … uh … guess all that physical therapy and stuff is goin' pretty good, huh?"

"Child," she repeated bitterly.

Foster leaned back. "Are you talking about those kids or me?" he asked. He waited for a response for several moments. "Look, I can leave if you want."

She glanced at him briefly. He had never seen her look at anyone. A small smirk appeared on her face. "Child," she said again, though this time with a more forceful voice.

"My name's Foster, actually," he told her. He sighed. "I'd wish you could say more than that, but that'd be rude. It's none of my business if you can talk or not."

"Drowning," she said. "Dreaming … drowning … dying."

Foster perked up. "You've been dreaming you were drowning?"

She nodded.

"That sucks," he told her. He wanted to slap himself in the face. What kind of response was _that_? "I'm from California. We tend to be more jumpy around mudslides and wildfires around that part of the country, y'know?" He stared at her. "You from around here?"

She shook her head and shrugged slightly, staring back out at the garden.

"I'm not really into New York," he told her, as if she'd been his confidant for ages. "I don't belong here. I'm just along for the ride, y'know?" He glanced at her. "I've lost my family … that's how I got stuck here. What about you?"

For several minutes, she didn't respond. Foster saw her clutch her gown. She frowned. "Dead," she told him.

Foster stared at her, unable to think of anything to say. After awhile, he finally muttered, "Your family's _dead_?"

She nodded, gritting her teeth.

Foster hung his head. "I … I'm sorry, lady. I had no idea." He felt his muscles tensing. He wanted to leave. He wanted to stay. He couldn't figure out the right thing to say, now that he had opened a big can of "whoops" into the conversation.

The woman watched with faint amusement. She wanted to see how this boy's presence would play out. She didn't want to acknowledge a lot of her history … it seemed so far away, in another lifetime, in another universe somewhere. She could remember a few of the details, but right now, she was just some woman in the hospital, with no identity. It had been taken from her forcefully. Still, just watching this young boy made her feel something again. She inhaled, letting her breath take shape from a small light growing imperceptibly within her:

"The lungfish mocked

In wat'ry home,

'Til rain was blocked,

All left was loam.

The lungfish's lungs

Did bring it air,

But though hope was sprung,

Could the lungfish care?"

Foster gawked at her. He could see her more … alive … than she was before. "That was … uh … a, uh … nice poem," he said finally. "Dark, but nice."

The woman smiled. She glanced over at him invitingly. "Lunch?" she offered.

Foster cocked an eyebrow. He smiled. "Sure," he told her, shrugging, "why not?"


	5. Chapter 5

Samson yawned as his cell phone rang. He activated the loudspeaker function and kept his eyes closed. "Hello?" he asked wearily.

"Samson? It's Foster. Are you on speaker?"

Samson jumped up in bed and rubbed his eyes. "Uh, yeah, but I'm the only one here." He cringed as he realized how that just sounded.

Several minutes passed. Samson feared he had been right. Suddenly, "I met this really cool lady over here."

"That's great!" Samson exclaimed, relieved that Foster wasn't pressing what, to him, was becoming an issue. "What's she like?"

"She's a patient at a hospital. I started volunteering there a month ago. She's really cool, though. We get along great."

"That's wonderful," Samson said warmly. "I'm so glad you've been able to get out and socialize more."

"Yeah."

"Well?" Samson asked.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to tell me what she's like?"

"I did."

"Translate it from teen-speak-as-few-words-as-possible, please?"

Foster sighed with disgust. Wasn't "cool" enough of a description? "She totally has no idea who she is. All she remembers is having an argument with her family. She keeps having these messed-up dreams about drowning. She doesn't even know how she got to the hospital. The more I stay there, the more she talks. She wasn't even doing that before I showed up, from what the nurses say."

"How old is she?"

"I dunno. She says time is relative and stuff like that … but I'd guess around thirty. I don't think she's had any work done. If she _is_ older than that, she ages real well."

"So, you two are hitting it off?" Samson was happy for Foster, so long as the conversation didn't start retreating to --.

"How's Bobby?" Foster asked curtly.

Samson tried to withhold a sigh. "He's fine. He's been missing you a lot. Well, I mean, I have too, y'know," he added quickly, "but we both miss you a lot."

"Um … yeah," Foster replied skeptically. "I didn't ask if you guys missed me. I'm not five. You know very well what I mean."

Samson finally sighed. His voice got lower and softer. "He's having trouble accepting certain things," he told his son. "You know Bobby: he always wants to avoid the issues."

Foster grunted. "You're having one of those pot-kettle moments, aren't you?"

Samson's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "What did you say?"

Foster rolled his eyes. "You two deserve each other. You're just alike! He runs off and you don't make him stay. Neither of you can take confrontation."

Samson clenched his jaw. "Feel free to live your _own_ life, Foster. You're eighteen, after all."

"I _am_," Foster shot back. "You think I hang around Mom like some schoolkid? I don't _need_ her. I found a place where I'm happy … where I can be myself. I hang out at the hospital more than I do at _her_ place. This passive-aggressive crap won't work on me. I know you both too much to fall for it. If you're tired of the new status quo – work it _out_, for God's sake!" He bit his lip. "Family isn't some sort of experiment. It either is or it isn't. You guys took the plunge, hooked up, and now all you _both_ want to do is sit down and moan about it getting taken away." His voice kept rising. "You didn't have that piece of paper when you met – why let him leave now that it's _gone_?"

"This doesn't sound like you," Samson gasped softly.

"It's called _adulthood_, Samson," Foster retorted angrily. "I _want_ to come back! I want to be a _family_! I hate New York, right? If it weren't for this woman I met … I'd be long gone, road-tripping my way back to sanity. She _gets_ me. You two aren't bachelors anymore. You're _partners_. _Act_ like it!"

"Adulthood also means realizing some things aren't always meant to be," Samson replied sadly, staring at the floor. "Letting go can be very therapeutic."

"So can resolving the issue."


	6. Chapter 6

Lena grabbed the Cosmopolitan from Bobby as they sat at the bar, both of them struggling to stay upright. "So," she said finally, gulping down some of his drink before placing it on the counter, "you think you have it all figured out, do you?"

Bobby nodded. "Yep." He grabbed her by her arm, making her flinch a little. "Ssssamson has too much self-esteem to do what … needs to get done … to get our fam'ly back," he slurred. He proudly patted his chest. "I, on the other hand, have … absolutely _no_ self-esteem."

"Don't keep beating yourself up, Bobby," she replied, smiling (though due to drink or friendliness was anyone's guess). "You did what had to be done. Zat is all anyone can ever 'ope to do."

Bobby stared longingly at the drink Lena had taken from him. She was right, though … he needed to be able to stumble out of the bar. Tonight was too important.

_There was a knock on the door. It opened, revealing Bobby standing there in an Armani suit, clearing his throat and adjusting his tie._

"_What do YOU want?" growled the female voice inside the dressing room._

"_I didn't know who else to contact," Bobby began more forcefully than he wanted. "I … I … I need help."_

"_I've been telling vous that for YEARS, Vegan."_

_Bobby sighed. "Look, I've got a kid. I don't want him to get hurt." His voice started to waiver as he slowly entered the room and shut the door behind him. "I've been keeping all the youtube comments hidden from him."  
_

"_And at some time this year there's going to be a POINT?"_

_Bobby glared at her. "YES, you hypocritical witch, you," he growled. "The POINT is that I posted our wedding videos on the internet, and some of the comments were," he hung his head, "less than complimentary, to say the least. I don't think Foster's safe anymore. I need to talk to Jenny … in PERSON."_

"_Why didn't you just mapquest her address?"_

"_Because it's not LISTED, that's why," he snapped. "And I didn't want any record at the house about where I was going." He scoffed and averted his eyes, staring at the multiple awards and posters displayed on the walls. "I guess it was too much to ask that my wedding engender the same sort of fuzzy warm feelings yours did," he told her wistfully._

_A long pause followed. Finally, "It didn't stay that way long."_

_Bobby raised an eyebrow._

_She continued, "He wanted to teach me a lesson. I went to my accountant to change my tax paperwork, and he said the license was declared forged." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "No one else knows, Vegan. Got that? I thought deception was the only way to get him to say yes, and he turned it back on me." She stood up, frowning. "NO ONE knows about this, right, Vegan? Not even the kid. It would KILL him."_

"_I … I had … no idea," Bobby gasped, holding one hand on his heart in shock._

"_So, why should I help vous keep YOUR relationship, when I can't keep MINE?"_

_Bobby smirked. "Because we scratch each other's backs, that's why."_

"_I beg your pardon?"_

"_Help me with this, and your chances in Hollywood will light up again," he told her. "Deny me, and what little snowball's chance you have will be kissed good-bye of getting him to warm back up to you." He stepped closer, glaring at her menacingly. "I can be Cupid, Love Angel of Mercy, or I can be Paul Revere, Messenger of Destruction. Your choice, toots."_


	7. Chapter 7

Jenny walked along the Brooklyn Bridge, stopping every now and again to spot little boats float by underneath. She really had no business in Brooklyn … she just wanted to take a walk before group.

She had only recently started going. Foster's unwillingness to enjoy her company may have been something she perhaps deserved … but it still hurt. She had given him up for adoption, but she _did_ care about him. She cared enough to let Bobby and Samson have a family who could give him the attention her son needed. She hadn't really expected Foster to like his name (she thought it was rather insulting), but he did. He truly enjoyed being with them.

Later, she entered the small therapist's office. The secretary nodded towards the door. Entering a medium-sized room, Jenny found a circle of small chairs. She was usually the first (human) there, but she discovered she was not alone this time. She couldn't help gasping in shock as she spotted a thin pale woman with short reddish-brown hair, dressed in a T-shirt and raggedy jean shorts. The woman turned and smiled condescendingly.

"I bet seeing me here just brightens your day," she announced snarkily.

Jenny stared at her for a few moments before finally figuring out how to work her mouth again. "Uh … no, I'm just … uh … 'group therapy' just didn't seem like your cup of tea."

The woman nodded and chuckled. "If the therapist weren't so cheap, I'd never have agreed to show up." She inhaled deeply. "So, how is 'The Investment That Got Away'?"

Jenny sat down beside her. "Rachel," she began softly, "I'm sorry."

Rachel's eyes widened. "What do you mean you're sorry?"

"It means I apologize," Jenny told her as though speaking to a toddler. "I was rude."

"I wasn't rather constructive myself," she noted, staring at the far wall. She laughed. "Everything I thought would be a financial disaster became a rousing success – and everything I preferred turned to dust before my eyes. Real estate was where the money was, back in the good ol' days. The only comfort I get is to know that every bank in the district got slapped with the same government knock-down. Makes me feel like I'm not the _only_ failure." She sighed, turning back to Jenny. "So – what does Little Miss Optimist need with mandated therapy?"

Jenny shook her head. "My son hates me."

Rachel gawked at her. "I didn't think your womb stretched for anyone," she said.

Jenny shot a deadly glance at her. "Aren't you here to work on your attitude?" she asked with clenched jaw.

Rachel shrugged. "How old is he? Does he find your perfection as irritating as I do?"

Jenny stood up and started pacing, frowning. "Christ, Rachel – I gave him up for adoption, okay? He's eighteen and he blames me for all of his problems." She pointed at the other woman angrily. "Does _that_ make you happy?"

Rachel smiled warmly. "If I said 'yes', would you hold it against me? Jenny, you told me all I had to do was believe and great things would come my way. Can't you grasp in your _enlightened_ mind that I _believed_ in greatness – and I'm behind on my payments and my bank has declared bankruptcy. Do you know what it's like to be told of dreams and optimism and see it work for others and when you try it – it blows up in your face? You gave up that kid of yours willingly. I got my dreams _stolen_ from me. I want them _back_, Jen," she continued sadly. She paused for several moments. "_All_ of them."

* * *

The patient stared, frowning, at the whimsical water fountain in a small courtyard. It showed six slender stone pixies dancing and playing music around a bronze bouquet of flowers which showered them in lighted water. Foster had gone home for the day. At long last, she was able to walk on her own again. She would be discharged soon, she had been told.

An athletic-looking dark-skinned nurse with emerald tips on her black hair sat down on a bench beside her and sighed dreamily at the water fountain. "Lovely, isn't it?" she asked the patient.

"Frustrating," was the cold response.

"I love your outfit," the nurse cheerfully noted.

"It's a hospital gown," the patient grumbled.

"Still it looks better than these old green scrubs of mine," the nurse retorted. "I might have to dig up some gowns and make some scrubs from 'em."

The patient stared at her. Suddenly, she was thrust into darkness. She flailed and kicked, feeling as though she were falling into the depths of nothingness.

When she awoke, she found herself sitting in a cheap chair, one among many in a large green park, all facing a large stage. A flashy banner saying "Class of 1980" stretched across the stage. Students, all in their late teens she thought to herself, filed happily across the stage as their names were read. When the valedictorian was announced, a young woman sprinted across the stage, her long reddish-brown hair swaying in the breeze.

The student smiled proudly at the audience as she took the podium. "Ladies and gentlemen, I worked hard to get where I am today. I surpassed my entire class. The rest of you lazy bums can't hold a candle to me when it comes to work ethic. You let your hippie parents coddle you and after graduation you'll be losing quarters to that awful game where the rotund little yellow thing gobbles everything in sight. That's how you'll be – fattening yourselves up in snack foods, bewailing your fate."

The patient smirked initially, thinking that this student was definitely going somewhere with her tirade. But as the list of insults grew longer, and the academic-types started shifting uncomfortably, she realized that this young woman was just a crude, arrogant, snotty little brat. She stood up to leave in disgust.

"But it doesn't have to be that way," the student continued. "Failure is only something that happens to you if you give up." The patient stopped and started looking at the student again. She noticed the student glance at her directly and smile. "I thought, just like some of you, that I would never amount to _anything_, but I found someone out there who proved me wrong. Each of us has someone like that … a role model we may not even have to meet in order to become inspired by them. I'm lucky to have met mine," she added softly.

After the ceremony the student approached the patient, who had found herself milling around, though she didn't know why.

"I am a certified _valedictorian_! Can you _believe_ it, MM?"

"'MM'"?

"Yeah, like the candy? I love those things …."

"I'm happy for you," the patient told her, smiling. "I'm sure you deserved it."

The student scoffed, offended (somewhat). "Dang _straight_ I deserved it! If you hadn't helped me out, I never would have made it." She sighed and slapped the patient on her shoulder. "So, where are we going tonight?"

"Tonight?"

"Um … _yeah_, MM." She placed her hands on her hips and scowled. "You forgot to rent the limo, didn't you?"

The patient's eyes widened slightly. "We're riding in a limo. I remember now," she said in a flash of recognition.

The student hugged the patient tightly. "You _didn't_ forget!"

The patient suddenly found herself sitting on the bench in the hospital courtyard. The nurse was standing over her, shining a pen light into her eyes. "Are you okay?"

The patient shooed her away. "I remember going to a high school graduation," she reported. "It was 1980. I think I was tutoring some student."

"1980, huh?" the nurse asked dryly. "Must be some kinda memory. You're definitely in your early thirties. I bet you're not even thirty-five yet. Do the math."

"But I was an _adult_," the patient protested. "We were going to celebrate her graduation!"

The nurse smiled and backed away a couple of steps. "Do you remember her name?"

The patient shook her head, frustrated. "She called me MM," she whispered softly.


	8. Chapter 8

"I thought we had a _deal_!" squealed Bobby that night at Lena's house. Lena was out partying so that Bobby could have a private conversation. Across from him, a curvy porcine diva with slightly curled blonde hair reclined on a chaise.

She daintily chewed on some licorice. "I have explained it to vous several times already, Bobby," she told him in a melodious voice. "I do not require your assistance in my private matters." She sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "Besides, I did what you asked – I told you where to meet Jenny. That was last year, and my perfect polliwog and I have been getting along just swimmingly."

Bobby snorted in disbelief, rubbing his forehead. "I don't believe this! I need your help!"

"I don't need _yours_, and that's your problem, Vegan."

"Piggy --."

Miss Piggy stood up and waved dismissively at him. "I loosened my leash. That made Kermie trust me more. I appreciate your advice, but you're the third wheel here."

"What about your _marriage_?" he shouted. "If we don't act now, this won't just be a problem for the rainbow crowd. Humans are so freakin' self-absorbed at the moment that soon you and I'll be eating swill out of some trough because we don't look like stretched-out hairless chimpanzees!"

"I'm not Bono," Miss Piggy retorted in a huff. "I don't go around pretending my celebrity will influence government."

"So you're going to just sit back and do nothing because your face is on a dozen magazines?" Bobby snarled.

Piggy nodded. "I realized that I got what I wanted after all," she replied calmly. "I was married in a church setting and a real priest blessed us. What more I can ask for?"

"Oh, I dunno, _legitimacy_?" His voice kept getting louder and louder.

"The government doesn't have a problem with non-humans marrying. I _told_ you the real reason we're not legal. This is _not_ our fight," she retorted with clenched teeth.

Bobby stared at her in awe. After several minutes, he said finally, "You really _do_ just step on whomever you like to get to the top, don't you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I seem to recall a depressed little pig, crying in Hicksville because humans had laughed at her." Bobby pointed at her. "If you don't help me, by God I'll continue this story."

"I won that contest because I was simply the most beautiful," Piggy replied confidently.

Bobby's lower lip quivered. "You won," he hissed, "because Bergen couldn't say no to a hundred-dollar bill."

Piggy clenched her gloved fists so tightly they might bleed. "You're lying," she growled.

"I _made_ you, Piggy," he shot back darkly, squinting his eyes. "I was the one who broke you through the straw ceiling. You _owe_ me."


	9. Chapter 9

_Early February, a long time ago, a young Samson was herded into a stall. A small rhesus monkey squealed and chattered as it bounded from stall door to stall door, with a group of cowboy-hatted humans running after it, some of them splitting up to cut it off. It finally landed in Samson's stall._

"_Hey, buddy, do me a favor, will ya?" it asked with a high-pitched grating voice. "Lay down and hide me, okay, pardner?"_

_Samson stared at the little monkey. "That hay hasn't been cleaned in a couple of days…."_

"_Never mind," blurted the little monkey, "that stuff washes off. I'm not riding that stupid dog again."_

_Samson rolled his eyes and lay down beside the monkey as he hid under the hay. The humans rushed past them, not suspecting a thing. When all was clear, Samson got up, looked at his short brown fur, and stuck out his tongue in disgust._

_The monkey timidly peeked out of the hay and then stood up, brushing off various bits of straw and cow pie. He smiled at Samson. "Thanks. Wearing that human stuff is just outright humiliatin', you know. An' I've known more smarts on animals than that stupid black and white Scottish sheepdog. He just happily trots around in circles, while I have to ride him and look like I'm enjoyin' it." He sighed, shaking his head. "Ta think I left the jungle for this crap."_

"_You're not the dramatic type, then?" Samson asked, carefully picking straw out his fur._

"_Nuh-uh. I mean, I know it's a livin', and I know I got it better than half the poor schmuks aroun' here, bound for their destinies and such … but I like rilin' 'em up every now an' again, just ta make things interestin'."_

"_I'm Samson, by the way."_

"_Zippy." He pointed at the small bull. "You meat or seed?"_

"_I beg you're pardon?"  
_

_The little monkey stared at him. "You types, I've seen it before: ya got two destinies, they cut ya up or you become their latest love machine for all the nice young cattle girls." He nodded over to the area where the pigs were kept. "Oinkers got it the same way, horses too. I'm just lucky I ain't got enough meat on me ta bother." He looked up at Samson. "Hey, you're the only one I've seen 'round here who don't like the accommodations. What's the problem with YOU?"_

_Samson shrugged. "I don't like to get dirty." He held up his front hooves. "These don't clean very well."_

_Zippy chuckled. "I got ya covered, pardner." He jumped up on Samson and started grooming him. "You're the most strangest bull I ever met. I hope they make you a stud. It's sure better than the alternative, y'know. A guy who takes that much interest in his appearance'll make great stock some day."_

_Samson evaluated the monkey's work. "You're quite … ooh," he gasped as Zippy reached a particularly tender region, "… um … thorough."_

_Zippy jumped off and admired his work. He held up his hands. "You need fingers, pardner. Any primate'll do, even those moronic humans. We primates are kinda agile, as you can see f'r yourself. You hook up and do the whole 'symbiosis' thing … and you'll come out just fine." He spotted some humans who had spotted him and sighed. "Guess that's the end of the run for me, lil' bull. Make sure you don't win that show, hear? That one always gets the blade. Find some other way to impress 'em. Studdin' will at least keep ya alive."_

_Samson knew he had to get out of there. Some humans approached him, including his trainer, and he realized his number was up._

Samson awoke, gasping loudly. He had been sleeping on the couch, the remote flying off his chest as he shot up.

"Sorry, Sammy … I didn't mean to wake you."

Samson looked up to see Lena, dressed in a slinky gown, and blinked. "Uh, Lena? What time is it?"

She glanced at her watch. "About two-thirty."

"_PM_?" Samson shouted as he sprung up, rushing past the couch to head upstairs, tearing off his silver robes. He stopped and turned, embarrassed. He rubbed his neck. "Uh …"

Lena chuckled, smiling, waving him on. "Nothing I haven't seen before, Sammy. Go get dressed, okay?"

Later, he came downstairs and noticed Lena cooking in the kitchen. "Where's Bobby?"

"At my house, talking to some girl from back 'ome, I zink." She stopped what she was doing and smiled at him warmly. "He'll come back, Sammy. Bobby just needed to take care of some things."

Samson cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. "Uh, yeah. I mean, I'm not worried about him or anything."

"Of course not."

"It's just that it's been a little longer than usual, and the political atmosphere what it is, I just think it's somewhat responsible to let someone's partner know where he is." He glanced at her. "Why are you cooking?"

"You deserve a break, Sammy," Lena replied. "I know how you get when you an' Bobby are having a zing."

"We are _not_ having a 'thing'," Samson retorted curtly.

"Yes, you are."

"No, we are _not_."

"Oui. It is most definitely a zing."

"I beg to differ."

Lena plopped down a spatula. "Are you afraid zat asking Bobby to come back will look like begging?"

Samson crossed his arms and turned away. "Of _course_ not, Lena. That's preposterous."

Lena smirked and started cooking again. "Oui. My mistake." She glanced lovingly at him. "I'm not here to tell you your business."

"Then why _are_ you here?"

Lena stopped again. "Foster."

Samson broke out of his gloomy mood and stared at her in shock. "Did something happen?"

"Oui. He got mugged in ze subway. Idiot did it in front of security. Crooks these days have no intelligence whatsoever. I don't know why zis country is so afraid of zem."

"And he called _you_ instead of _us_?" Samson asked, his voice rising in panic.

Lena taste-tested something and shrugged. "Something about there not being an 'us'," she told him matter-of-factly. She looked at him, watching him droop his head in guilt. Finally, he started walking over to his cell phone. "I doubt he's going to answer."

"I'm not calling Foster," Samson said sadly.

Lena was shocked. "You're _not_?"

Samson sighed. "No, I'm canceling all my appointments this week. I'm going to New York."

A brief smile flashed over Lena's face.

**Author's Note: According to Fort Worth Stock Show's website, the whole "Zippy rides a dog" thing was a real act.**


	10. Chapter 10

"Really? Discharged?"

MM stared at Foster, laughing briefly to herself as his face grew a tiny bit pale. "You seem rather anxious to keep me here."

Foster flicked some hair out of his eyes, staring at the ground. "You don't even know who you are, yet. How could they let you go?"

MM patted him on the shoulder. "You've got a lot to learn about being professional, Foster. It's rather unethical to be hitting on me." She couldn't help but smile.

Foster looked up at her finally. "I'm not hitting on you! I'm … uh … just … wondering where you'd go, that's all." He frowned. "I mean, living on the streets and stuff is kinda hardcore for someone just getting out of the hospital. You could get hurt."

MM sighed and looked up at the ceiling of her room. "Did you hear what happened last night?"

Foster followed her gaze. "Uh, no."

MM laughed. "I guess it's not a breaking news story." She pointed at the sprinklers on the ceiling. "Around midnight, I remember having another dream … those bad ones I told you about. I woke up and the room was drenched." She glanced at him, bemused. "They said it was a sprinkler malfunction." She kept smiling. "What do you think?"

Foster looked around. "I think they dried out your room kinda quick."

MM leaned back on her bed as Foster sat beside her. "Do you think there's more to life than what we got?"

Foster glanced at her. "What do you mean?"

MM glanced back at him, her smile fading. "I feel like something's missing."

Foster chuckled. "Dude, your mind got wiped. What's _not_ missing?"

MM groaned.

"It was a joke."

MM smiled. "I know. It was just in incredibly bad taste."

Foster lowered his head. "Sorry."

MM waved at him dismissively. "Forget it. I can't help feeling," she sighed, "like there's someone I was supposed to meet before all this happened."

"Like a friend or something?"

"Yeah." MM stared at the boy. "What's the best way to locate someone if you don't know who it is?"

Foster stroked his chin. "Well, that makes it kinda tough, actually." He looked at her. "What all do you know?"

"She graduated in 1980."

"High school or college?"

"High school."

"Do you know where?"

"No, but she was valedictorian."

"I guess I can look her up."

MM had a flash of recognition. "She's from New York."

Foster smiled. "Yeah, that'll narrow it down, some." He patted her bed. "I'll get some results for you tomorrow." He frowned. "Uh, are you even going to _be_ here tomorrow?"

"I hear the housing market isn't what it should be."

"Do you have any money? Has social services talked to you, yet?"

"There's someone lurking around here I can talk to."

Foster nodded and stood up. "Yeah. Go talk. I'll meet you out front at the hospital tomorrow morning at eight, 'kay?"

"Right." Foster started to leave. "Foster?"

He stopped and turned. Yes, he thought to himself. She's so totally into me. "Yeah?"

MM leaned forward and smirked. "I can't thank you enough for your help. You're such a nice young man. Don't lose that quality, okay?"

He smirked back. "Sure."

"And Foster?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm so glad you're not the kind of man to make every interaction an invitation to a date. You wouldn't believe how much that goes on here."

Foster gulped barely. "Uh, yeah. That's totally not me."

She grinned widely. "I'm glad."

He left just as the dark-skinned nurse from the courtyard walked in. "So, how are you today?" she asked cheerfully.

MM sighed and averted her eyes. "Foster's a good kid. He's going to help me find that young woman I remembered."

The nurse chuckled. "Well, she won't be so young anymore." The nurse looked around. "Your room dried up rather well."

"I can see that."

The nurse glanced towards the door. "What's the deal with the kid?"

"He was sent here to New York because some political thing in California forced him out."

"Really?" the nurse asked thoughtfully. "Poor kid."

"He lives his with biological mother, but he really wants to go back to his adoptive parents."

"Hmm." The nurse shook her head, stroking her chin, and turned back to MM. "Why doesn't he just go back? He's not a minor, right?"

"Nope," MM replied. "The problem, so far as I can tell, is that I'm the problem."

The nurse smiled knowingly. "Men who don't know what they really want can be such a trial." She sighed. "They wemble so badly when a fair maiden passes within their range of view."

MM glanced at the nurse quizzically. "They what?"

The nurse laughed. "I'm sorry. Just a term I've heard here and there. I just meant men become so terribly indecisive when it comes to women."

MM sighed and stared at her window, where bright sunshine streamed in. "He reminds me of the child."

"What child?"

MM shrugged. "I dunno, actually. Kid's personality just seems kinda familiar, that's all."

The nurse laughed again. "Men his age all act alike, in my view. It's not like his type is rare."

MM chuckled. "No, I guess not."


	11. Chapter 11

Jenny yawned and approached the door to her apartment, which had been knocking for several minutes now. "I'm coming! I'm coming!" she belted out. It was getting late, and she had meetings to go to tomorrow.

She opened the door and gasped. "Samson?"

He barreled past her, looking around her living room, tapping his feet. "You could have _called_, Jen."

"Now, Sammy," a thin Caucasian woman said as she entered slowly.

Jenny turned to see her and smiled briefly. "Hi, Lena."

"I mean it, Jen," Samson continued, his voice filled with frustration. "I mean, I know Foster doesn't want to talk to _us_, but _you_ could have called."

Jenny stared at him like he had completely lost his mind. "What are you talking about?"

Lena shifted her weight uncomfortably. "Sammy, hold on --."

"No, Lena!" he shouted. "I want to know why we weren't called!"

"_Time_!" Jenny barked, making the "time out" gesture. "I don't have the slightest idea what anyone's talking about, so let's handle this one step at a time. Why doesn't Foster want to talk to you, Samson?"

"He an' Bobby are having a zing," Lena whispered.

"For the eight-hundredth time, we are _not_ having a _thing_!"

Jenny rubbed her forehead. It was too late at night to be dealing with this level of yelling. "Alright, step two: why would I need to call you?"

Samson gawked at her. "You don't think I love Foster enough to care that he's been _mugged_?"

Jenny flashed a look of puzzlement to Lena. "Mugged? When did _this_ happen?"

"You don't even _know_?" Samson demanded in an accusatory tone.

Lena stepped between them and stretched out her arms. "Everyone, calm down."

"I will _not_ calm --."

"It didn't _happen_, Sammy!" Lena blurted out in a panic. "_Nothing_ is wrong with Foster!"

Samson glared at his ex-wife. "What?" he grumbled after a few moments of stunned silence.

Lena sighed and turned to Jenny. "I am _so_ sorry, Jenny. I told 'im Foster was mugged because I was tired of seeing him wallow in his own self-pity at 'ome."

Samson sat down on the couch, breathless. "I was … I was _not_ --."

"Yes, you were!" Lena shot back. "Everyone has been trying to make a diff'rence, except _you_. Zis is not the one I married, Sammy. _My_ Sammy would have left ze 'ouse and not act like nothing was 'appening."

Samson stared at the floor. His voice was almost emotionless. "What do you want me to do, Lena? Hold the governor ransom until that asinine proposition gets repealed? Move the entire family to a more suitable country?" His voice began to waiver. "You're confusing me with Bobby, _again_."

Lena moved closer to speak, but Jenny stopped her and sat down beside Samson, speaking in a tender voice. "Samson, you don't have to do something melodramatic. Just be a family."

Samson chuckled. "I can't."

Jenny shook her head. "There are countless families in this country who aren't legal for one reason or another. Either they're illegal immigrants, they're polygamists, or … or they're gay. But they _still_ exist. They take the risk because their families are worth more than anything."

Samson looked at her, pleadingly. "And you think I _don't_ feel that way?"

Jenny smiled sadly. "I know you feel that way, Samson," she replied. "I feel that way too – but Foster has rejected me. Totally. Nothing I do makes him happy. Despite everything I've done, I know you can sympathize with the hurt I feel to be denied a chance at family. It doesn't only apply to people in your situation." She paused, pointing at herself. "I've lost my entire family: father, husband, and child. I have absolutely no one left. Only my friends can keep me company." She chuckled, tears welling up in her eyes. "And now with everyone's success, I don't even see _them_ as often as I used to."

Lena, horrified, sat near Jenny on the floor, caressing Jenny's thigh. "I am _so_ sorry, Jenny," she said. "Is zere anything we can do?"

Jenny shook her head and shrugged. "I'm afraid I'm giving up, Lena." She sniffled. "I'm just getting tired of the whole thing," she added softly.

Samson stared at Jenny in silence for a long time. No one else spoke, either. Finally, he asked quietly, putting an arm around Jenny, "Why didn't you call us?"

Jenny placed one hand on his arm and smiled. "You two have too much going on. I didn't want to add on to it."

"Jenny --."

"I've been thinking of moving, retiring from the rat race," Jenny said, interrupting Samson. She wiped the tears from her eyes. "I was … going to let Foster keep the apartment as soon as he found a paying job. He's a bright kid. I'm sure he can keep it up." She paused. "I am empty, Samson." She glanced at Lena. "Everything that ever brought me joy has just been … nothing … lately."

"What about zerapy?" Lena asked, realizing that things were darker for Jenny than they thought.

Jenny shook her head. "I'm going to group, but everyone seems to be learning some trick to make things better. Foster refuses any of my suggestions. It's just not working. Even Rachel realizes it."

"Rachel?" Samson and Lena ask together.

Jenny nodded. "She's the owner of Bitterman Bank here in Manhattan. It got caught up in the real estate fiasco and we've butted heads more than a few times. I think she likes what's happening to me. She thinks it's justice."

Lena crossed her arms in indignation. "Sounds like she is a bitter ol' hag."

They heard keys fumbling outside the door. Jenny quickly wiped her eyes. She whispered desperately, "I don't want this conversation reaching Foster."

Foster entered and nearly gagged when he saw Samson and Lena in the living room. "Uh, what are you guys doing here?"

Lena, trying to push the conversation with Jenny out of her mind, smiled and leapt over to Foster, hugging and kissing him. "Oh, we just wanted to stop by an' say 'allo."

Foster chuckled and pushed her away playfully. "Right. You guys were _just_ in the neighborhood, right?"

"Yeah," Samson replied slowly. "We wanted to see how things were going, son."

Foster shrugged sheepishly and smiled. "She totally digs me, Samson," he replied proudly. "I know I'm so the guy to fix all her problems."

Jenny cocked her head to the side in confusion. "Who?"

He told her, "She only knows her initials. Anyway, I gotta look up someone for her. She's looking for a friend of hers from the Class of 1980 here in New York. I guess she'll hang with her or something until she can get her own place." He pulled out his cellphone. "I've been web searching, and the only valedictorian I could find was some chick named Kinderman."

Jenny had a flash of recognition. "I know that name. It's Rachel's maiden name." She stood up. "Rachel brags about her high honors all the time."

**Author's Note: In case anyone's forgotten, Foster, Samson, Bobby, Lena, and Arturo are from Tinseltown on Logo. Piggy and Kermit are from various Muppet properties, as is Jenny (she's from Muppets Take Manhattan) and Rachel Bitterman (from It's a Very Merry Muppet Christmas Movie) ... none of which I own.**


	12. Chapter 12

_The little girl with black hair, tied up in two pigtails, stared up at the waterfall installed in the hallway. An older woman looked back at her, with long black hair, dangling past her shoulders._

"_My love, I thought I said to leave your sister alone today," a woman's voice said from behind._

_The toddler turned around. She was so pretty, she thought. Such flowing white hair, such ornate silky white dresses … she loved playing dress-up with her mother's clothes. She pointed at the waterfall with a happy expression. "Look, Mama!"_

_The woman glanced up and saw the image in the water. She bent down and placed a hand warmly on the girl's shoulder. She smiled. "Do you know who that is?"_

_The toddler nodded. "Me."_

_The woman's face flashed with concern. "You know that? Hmmm." She dismissed her thoughts from her mind and smiled again. "My dear, you can't play with your sister like that. You could have hurt her."_

"_Her skin got big," informed the little girl, who twirled hair from one of her pigtails in her fingers._

"_Yes, and I must punish you if you do it again."_

_The toddler looked back at the waterfall. "Can I play with someone else?"_

_The mother laughed. "You can't play with those images."_

"_No," the girl replied, shaking her head. "Someone real."_

_The mother embraced her daughter. "Whatever makes you content, my love."_

MM sat on a bench close to the street in front of the hospital. The nurse with whom she had come to interact frequently sat down beside her, smiling.

"Does your supervisor know you barely stay on the floor?"

The nurse laughed. "I'm only PRN. I come when needed." She slapped her own thigh. "So – have you found a place, yet?"

"The boy is meeting me today. I'm thinking that the woman I saw will help me."

The nurse frowned. "Don't you think it could be a shock to just show up and request shelter?"

MM turned to the nurse and smirked. "Why wouldn't she help me? _I'm_ the one who can't remember _her_."

* * *

Rachel sat outside the small café, sipping some coffee.

_She called and called, but no one answered. All she got was a voicemail from her personal assistant. She bit her fingernails. What had she done wrong? She thought it was her personality that endeared her to the only one who seemed to enjoy her company._

_But she was brushed off._

_She had been the one constant positive thing in her entire life. She had only married that senile Bitterman to get the bank, and now he was dead. And the bank was in trouble. Donald Trump, as much as she cringed to admit it, she was not._

A dark-skinned woman in a dark green business suit walked up and sat down, cradling her chin in her hands, smiling. "Hi."

Rachel put down her cup. "This is a bad time to be flirting with me."

The woman laughed and leaned back. "No, I think you misunderstood. I apologize. I wanted to ask you some things about your bank." She stopped smiling. "You _are_ Ms. Bitterman, am I correct?"

Rachel nodded and smirked. "Are you willing to buy?"

The woman sighed. "Well, I _am_ an investor. However, I don't have a real need for a financial services institution. I work more in environmental management."

Rachel looked up and down at the woman's suit. "You haven't given me your name, and from the look of you, I'd say you're a member of Greenpeace. I hate to tell you this, but I find them detestable."

The woman smiled. "My name is Eshe Adedoja. It means Life-Bringer and Crown Having Worth."

Rachel smirked. "I'm so pleased for you."

Eshe smiled, though she couldn't hide her irritation. "As I said, I'm in environmental management. However, I am interested in offering _you_ other opportunities."

"Such as?"

Eshe leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands, staring at Rachel. "Relocation. If you could just start over, and work in administration for a rather powerful government, would you?"

Rachel laughed. "Are you serious?"

"Quite, actually."

Rachel stopped laughing and glared at her. "Look: I'm a useless bank owner and a nobody. I don't have any qualities whatsoever that would make me worth your time."

Eshe smiled. "I'm not in the position to bring you to that new job, Ms. Bitterman. I can only tell you it's available. There will come a time where fate will open the door for you – and it will be your choice and yours alone to determine just happy you are here." Eshe stood and put her chair back into its rightful place. "Consider the offer, Ms. Bitterman. I like to provide career rehabilitation on the side. It's the 'nobodies' who need help, not the 'somebodies'."

"And how much do you want for your services?" Rachel asked. "My therapist charges $200 an hour."

"It's pro bono," Eshe replied casually. "I enjoy tinkering with people here and there."

"So, what you're saying is, you stick your nose into other people's business."

Eshe laughed as she turned to leave. "Ridicule me if you like, Ms. Bitterman – but even the biggest storms clear eventually. Yours will too, if you let it."

**Author's Note: Although Eshe's name is mine (since I don't recall her having a name), the character's true identity (and the patient's, really) are not owned by me.**


	13. Chapter 13

"No, really … you're just gonna go up to her and just ask for help?" Foster asked MM as they walked toward Bitterman Bank.

MM shrugged, flicking a strand of hair from her eyes. "Why not? We're friends, right?"

Foster laughed. "Uh … because you just don't go up to people and ask for help."

MM stopped, her face puzzled. "Why not?"

"Because people think it's rude."

MM tried hard to fathom what the boy had said. "It's rude to ask for help when one needs it?"

Foster gazed at her and cracked a smile. "It's not like you're asking her to take you to the ER or something like that. If you just walk up to her and ask to stay at her place or to get you a place, it just comes off as being a mooch, especially if you haven't talked to her in awhile."

MM snarled, "I happened to be a little _preoccupied_, Foster."

Foster's smile vanished, replaced by a look of concern. "_I_ know that … but she _doesn't_." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe we need to RP before we waltz into her office."

"RP?"

"Role-play," Foster replied. "Y'know … act it out first … see what works and what doesn't."

"Why can't I just be direct? It will save everyone a lot of time."

"Look, there are _rules_ to social interaction, okay? You haven't seen her in God-knows-how-long, and even though you have a really good excuse, you'll still have back up a bit and not just take your friendship for granted. I mean," he added frankly, "let's be honest … the most you remember is maybe meeting her once or twice. You don't even really know how great your friendship _was_. She could have moved on in her life. You gotta feel her out before you just plop a housing request on her."

Eventually, they worked their way to Ms. Rachel Bitterman's office.

_Jenny called Rachel. "Are you going to be at work today?" A pause. "Well, it's not for me, but there's someone who needs to get in touch with you. It sounds important, Rachel." Another pause. "All I know is that she needs to get in touch with you. I think … Rachel … STOP TALKING FOR A MINUTE!" She sighed. "Rachel … this woman sounds like she needs you to help her. She'll be at your office at 10AM. Be there, okay? This is a good opportunity to start turning things around for yourself." Another pause. "No, she's not crazy. She's not a stalker either, Rachel."_

_Jenny hung up and turned to Lena, who had been watching closely. Jenny smiled briefly. "She's being frustrating, but she'll be there. She's nothing if not predictable." Jenny nodded. "You were right, Lena. That DID help me feel better. I can't promise it fixes everything, but I guess it's a step forward."_

Foster and MM stood just outside the door. He swept her hair away from her face carefully. "So," he whispered, "are you ready?"

MM smiled briefly. "All I have to do is read from the script, right?" she asked sarcastically.

Foster rolled his eyes. "Just go with the flow."

MM frowned and moaned. "Don't use that phrase, Foster … _ever_."

MM knocked carefully on the door.

"Enter and make it quick!" barked the female voice from inside.

MM glanced at Foster, who cringed slightly. He shrugged and nodded towards the door. MM sighed and entered.

"What do you want?" snapped Ms. Bitterman, who stared at her computer monitor.

MM gulped. "Hello … Ms. Bitterman."

"I'm still waiting for the point of this conversation."

MM frowned. "I'll get to the point when you _join_ the conversation, you sniping little flea-infested bovine."

Foster stood outside the office, trying not to look like he was overhearing the conversation and slapped his forehead in disbelief. Most of him wanted this little argument, because he really wanted her to stay with _him_, but he was pouring so much of his time trying to set this up, it was a little … disappointing.

Ms. Bitterman looked up and stared at the visitor in confusion. Where had she seen this woman before? She looked so familiar. And her voice ….

MM crossed her arms, still glaring. "Maybe it escaped your notice, but there are … _rules_ to social behavior."

Outside, Foster grinned and snickered.

"Who are you?" Ms. Bitterman asked in a tone of wonder.

MM shrugged. "I was hoping you could fill me in. I wake up in the hospital … and all I can see is your face. I know you have something to do with me. I'd appreciate any information you could offer."

Ms. Bitterman's face grew cold and pale. She slowly stood up, unable to tear her eyes away. "Moulin?" she gasped quietly.

MM flinched as her head started to throb.

"_My own daughter! Plagued with attraction to a pathetic, mortal, weak-willed, unattractive __human__!"_

_Her throat ached. She could feel a cold hand clenched tightly around it. She could feel her strength drain from her. Mother, please … stop …. The sky and ground swirled around her and she fell onto the moist earth, gasping for breath._

_She had to stop her mother. If she didn't, her next target after this would be obvious. She would leave for New York, hunt her down, and make being assaulted by a sociopath seem pleasant in comparison._

"_You could have hurt her," her mother had told her when she was younger._

_She summoned all of her energy to stand, her determination dark and unyielding. Her anger swirled around her almost tangibly. "You will never defeat me," she informed her mother with a strained voice._

_Rachel must be protected from her mother's wrath._

_Hurting her mother would only be the beginning._

_She would finish her._

Moulin shed a single tear. "Your name … is … is … _Rachel_."

Foster caught the tone in her voice. He peeked through the frosted glass window of the office door. He saw the banking executive rush to MM and embrace her tightly. His mouth flew open when MM … _Moulin_ (what kind of a name was _that_?) … enveloped her arms around Ms. Bitterman.

"What happened!" Rachel demanded tearfully. "You were supposed to meet me for lunch!"

Moulin pushed her away and looked at the floor. She smirked sheepishly. "Forgive me. I was … assaulted. I've been struggling to get my life back ever since."

Rachel gasped, horrified. "My God – why didn't you _call_ me?"

Moulin shrugged. "I was unconscious for some time. When I woke up … nothing made any sense. I felt completely ripped away from everything I knew." She looked up and smiled. "I only knew … that I had to make sure you were okay."

Rachel slipped down to the floor, staring at Moulin as though an angel had appeared before her. For the first time in a long time, she felt a light ooze into her soul, illuminating her from within. Her poor, wounded seraph had been cast down from Heaven. And Rachel, she regretfully noted to herself, had failed to catch her as she fell … and she had responded only by being infuriated that she had been left to fend for herself.

Rachel started crying. "I am _so_ … _so_ … sorry!" she wailed. "When you didn't call, I just concluded you broke up with me! It never occurred to me that something happened to you!" She lowered her head to the floor. "I … I just don't deserve you as a lover!"

Foster's heart nearly stopped as he watched and listened. He backed away slowly. It seemed to take hours just to reach the other side of the hallway. "Lover?" The hallway started blurring. He felt dizzy and cold. He stumbled back and hit the wall, sliding slowly down to the floor in shock.

Moulin was … was …

… was _never_ "into" him at all.

It had never occurred to him that this friend she needed to find was her lover. He had just felt it was like looking up a classmate or something. He felt it was one of those nostalgic sentimental things, not a desperate attempt to hook up.

His lips started to quiver.

He wanted to go home.

**Author's Note: You can thank Jake T. Forbes of Return to Labyrinth fame for Moulin.**


	14. Chapter 14

Foster finally stood as he heard the two women in the office continue to talk. He glumly left, staring at the floor of the large banking office building. As he approached the elevator to return to the main floor, he heard a gravelly high-pitched voice call out, "Hold the elevator!" There was stomping and loud panting and a three-foot-tall blue blur zoomed into the elevator.

Foster, when he realized who it was, couldn't help but smirk.

The blue Muppet monster with bright red lips sighed with relief and smiled as he held out his hand to Foster. "Thank you very much, young man. My name is --."

"Grover, right?"

Grover nodded happily. "I see you know your monsters. And what is _your_ name?"

"Foster," the teen replied. "I heard you were a waiter."

Grover kept grinning. "Oh, yes, I have a long history of working in the food service industry," he replied happily. "However, Ms. Bitterman was nice enough to hire little cute furry Grover last year." He glanced at Foster knowingly. "I am doing _very_ well."

Foster smiled back. "Great to hear. Uh, what floor do you want?"

"Oh, the main floor. I have decided to go out to eat for lunch today." Grover allowed Foster to leave the elevator first when they arrived on the main floor. "You seem a bit young to be an employee," he noted thoughtfully.

Foster flashed a frown before trying hard to smile again. "Uh, I don't work here. Just had to drop off a visitor." And watch her dump me for a little greedy CEO turd, he thought to himself bitterly.

"Oh. Did you meet with the security guard first?"

"My mom set up an appointment. She and Ms. Bitterman know each other."

"Oh? Who is your mother, may I ask?" Grover asked sincerely, always happy to engage in conversations with random people.

"Jennifer Evangelos," Foster replied. "She's a Broadway producer."

Grover nodded solemnly. "Yes, we were sad to hear of what happened to Mr. Crawford. He was a very nice man." He looked up. "I did not know Jenny had a son."

Foster seemed a bit confused at the mention of Mr. Crawford, someone he had never heard of. He dismissed it in his mind, however, and shrugged. "She adopted me out when I was a baby. I only recently moved back in with her."

Grover smiled and patted Foster on the back. "Oh, I am _so_ happy when family is reunited." He wiped away a tear. "After all, love is best when it is _shared_, do you not agree?"

Foster remained silent and looked away, toward the front doors.

"Did I say something wrong?" asked Grover. "I do not mean to offend anyone. I wish to remain cute and furry every day." He tenderly used an arm to stop Foster when the boy still refused to acknowledge him. "Do you need to talk about it?"

Foster glanced at Grover at last. "No, thanks."

"I am very good at helping," Grover replied. He trotted over in front of Foster and stared up at him. "I can also be _very_ persistent. It is my best quality."

"You won't leave me alone until I tell you?" Grover nodded. Foster rolled his eyes and sighed. "No offense, but the kind of thing I have to deal with doesn't really fit the Street vibe, if you get my meaning."

Grover nodded. "I understand. Many here and elsewhere also think that nothing bad ever happens on Sesame Street. They must not tune in very often or have really short memories." He looked up at Foster tenderly. "Foster, what you see on television is for the benefit of children and their families. _We_, on the other hand, live lives just like everybody else."

"Some families are being destroyed," Foster protested, despite his unwillingness to do so. However, he couldn't help himself. The little blue monster was like a truth magnet. "They get ignored and when they finally get a glimpse of hope, the rug gets yanked out from under them again."

"Is this about you and your mother?"

Foster shook his head. "It's about my adoptive family in California." He glanced at Grover, his eyes moistening. "Are you familiar with the number eight?"

Grover went slack-jawed and wide-eyed. "OOOOOOH," he said, "yes, I do remember hearing that number a few times on the news." He scratched his head nervously. He looked down and then back at Foster. "I am very sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

Foster laughed. "Grover, no offense, but nobody can help me."

"Aw, Foster, that cannot be true. Even when things are very, _very_ bad … someone will help."

"You seem to be the only one interested."

"Well, how many people have you asked?"

"Counting you? Uh, you," Foster replied, still in disbelief.

Grover grinned. "Oh, well, that explains a _lot_," he noted. "For very _big_ problems, there must be a whole _group_ of helpers."

Foster stopped just short of the front door. "Grover," he told the little monster seriously, "whole groups of people voted to take my family away. I can't stop them, you can't stop them, even if the whole cast of Sesame Street showed up, it still wouldn't change anything."

Grover stroked his small chin thoughtfully. "Well, maybe I can ask Froggy-baby to help out. His girlfriend is over in California now to do some commercial shoots. She might have some connections."

Foster stopped Grover from going through the front door and bent down to look him straight in the eye. "Helping with this could … make … things go … _wrong_ … with your work on your show," he said uncomfortably.

Grover smiled warmly and removed Foster's hand from his shoulder. "Foster, if I worried about what people thought of me, I would not be able to be helpful as much as I am. I was hired here _because_ I do not let other opinions bother me … well, _that_ much." He giggled nervously. "Anyway, you can count on _me_, I am sure you can count on Kermit (for he is _almost_ as helpful as his furry pal Grover) … and we will just have to see who else we can get to help you with your … ahem … really big problem." He waved his arms triumphantly and melodramatically. "But do not fret! Help is on the way!"

**Author's Note: Grover is from Sesame Street, which is owned by Sesame Workshop.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note: Warning – Lena and Samson's past is brought up. Nothing explicit, but given Lena's description, there's no way I can really water down what would fit her character.**

Lena and Jenny walked around Central Park just after lunch. Jenny described an odd sporting event that took place there last year, hosted by Kermit the Frog and his friends. Creatures big and small, from supposedly all over, joined humans in the festivities, even garish-looking creatures looking like they came out of an eighties' kids' fantasy flick. The cast of Sesame Street, who really did live there, though they started the education business to supplement their income starting in the late sixties, had the most educational of the pavilions, while the most violent was easily the goblin pavilion. Supposedly they had come from another dimension filled with monsters and fairies and such, and they enjoyed "playing war" in front of humans.

Lena shook her head. "I suppose it is never very boring in ze Big Apple, no?"

Jenny smiled wistfully. "No. Whenever things get dull, you can almost always trust Kermit and his crew to liven things up."

Lena smiled. "He sounds like a very nice person to be around," she said, glancing at Jenny. "Has he known about your feelings?"

Jenny stopped and stared at Lena with a confused expression. "What feelings? I'm not in love --."

Lena laughed. "Oh no! I did not mean it like zat!" She nearly crumpled over in laughter. "No, what I meant was, does he know you've been sad about Foster lately?" She stood back up and wiped away some tears. Her voice was filled with sincere concern. "Does he even know about Foster?"

Jenny nodded. "Kermit knows. He never told anyone. Heck, _I_ didn't flat out tell him either. He just … picks up on things. He knows Foster lives in California with adoptive parents."

Lena asked seriously, "What does he zink about Bobby and Samson?"

Jenny shrugged. "Kermit's not like that, Lena. He was rather quiet for a few days after he found out, but Kermit's the kind of frog who just plays with whatever cards he's dealt. This is a frog who helped start the idea of bringing in humans and Muppets and monsters and practically raising kids all over the world. He believes in a dream – of making everyone he can happy."

Lena smiled sheepishly. "Sammy used to be like zat, before he started dating Bobby."

Jenny nodded slowly. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

Lena shrugged casually. "Of course not. However, I zink I can guess what it is."

"What happened?"

Lena sighed.

_Lena had seen Samson stroll into the club one night, visibly uncomfortable. She was on stage, wearing a sparkling silvery outfit that left little to the imagination. Her hair was curly and coiled down to her shoulders. She wrapped herself around the large bronze pole in rhythm to the music. She noticed he sat down just in front of the stage, avoiding eye contact._

_After the song ended, she crawled to the edge of the stage seductively and batted her eyes at him. "I will be your Europa if you will be my Zeus," she cooed. She beckoned to him. "Take me past the crashing waves. Show me a storm's true fury."_

"_We need to talk," was his only reply._

_After the show Lena got dressed in her room as Samson entered. "Lena," he began slowly, "I think it's time we take a look at where life is taking us."_

_Lena turned around. "Oh?"_

_Samson nodded. "Yeah, hon. See, the thing is … I've really enjoyed the time we've spent together. You've been there when no one else would. Yet, I think I've been having a problem. This isn't a criticism of our activities, of course, but I think I might be better off exploring other … venues of romance."_

_Lena stared at him with a droll expression. "You're asking for a divorce, aren't you?"_

_Samson nodded nervously. "Like I said: it's not a complaint. You've broadened my horizons in ways I could never imagine. It's just … I think … despite everything …."_

"_You're gay," Lena remarked casually._

_Samson looked up in shock. "What?"_

_Lena chuckled. "Oh, Sammy … you could have told me at any time, you know. A wife who sees her 'usband gawk for 'alf an hour at a time at ze busboy or ze pool boy or ze waiter and does NOT understand the problem is blind or stupid."_

_Samson stepped back and cleared his throat. "You seem … awfully okay with this."_

_Lena laughed. "Come here, you thick slice of beef, you."_

_Samson warily approached her._

_She put her hands around his snout and stared at him lovingly. "You have done so much to 'elp ze impoverished neighborhoods, using your money to spruce zem up and get rid of all ze unpleasantness … why should anyone take 'appiness away from YOU? You deserve to feel comfortable getting in bed with ze one you meld with, removing any sense of separation from ze rest of ze universe. If you are not against us still being friends, I will not stand in your way."_

_Samson hugged her, a tear rolling down one furry cheek. "Thank you, Lena. I knew there was a reason we hit it off to begin with."_

"Wow," Jenny said finally. "You _did_ take that awfully well. I know a lot of women who would have _killed_ their husbands if they said that."

Lena shrugged as they continued their walk. "Look, Jenny … cows graze constantly, and so do I. Life is so temporary and everything. Why force a rigidity zat is no longer zere?" She smiled, letting the sunlight warm her face. "Life is too short to be stuck. When I die, I want it said zat I did as much as anyone could, living life to ze fullest."

"I wish I could do that," Jenny replied somberly. "When Dad and Ronnie died, I felt like everything that defined me was just carelessly run over by a stream of cars on the highway."

Lena glanced at Jenny sympathetically. "It may be rude of me to say zis," she told her, "but ze reason you feel zat way is because you let men define you." She faced forward. "Even with Foster, you are upset because he does not fit into your notion of what family is. Zink about it, Jenny: when you produce a play, is it not _your_ name zat comes first? Ze buck stops with you, no? So it is with relationships: whether zey stick around or fade away, ze only real constant is _yourself_. If you can't love yourself, how do you expect to truly love everyone else?"

"RuPaul?"

Lena grinned and playfully slapped Jenny on the back. "See? You know good quotes when you hear zem," she replied cheerfully.

"Are you honestly suggesting I just let Foster deride me at every turn?"

"Of course not," answered Lena. "He is being a teenaged boy. Even zo he is of age, he should not be going around disrespecting someone who let him live with zem. Kick 'im out. Zat's what I would do."

"He's my son," Jenny protested.

"No, he is Bobby and Samson's," noted Lena. "Physically he comes from you, but emotionally, 'is heart is elsewhere. Zere is nothing you can do about zat. Ze best way is to zink of it not as losing your son, but watching a boy become a man. He must learn to make his own decisions, Jenny. Do not mourn your absence now. Enjoy what you've been given. Your ami Kermit would probably tell you as much, would he not?"

Jenny walked some more in silence, pondering what Lena had said. Lena kept quiet as well, letting her words simmer in Jenny's darkened mind, hoping some light would break through those storm clouds.

Just as Samson had done for her, those many years ago.


	16. Chapter 16

Kermit snored, his head on a desk just offstage of his theater. It had been a long time since he had been able to take a nap without much interruption.

"Froggy baby!"

Kermit jerked up, filled with flashes of countless exposures to the blue monster salesman back when he lived on Sesame Street. He looked around and hoped it was Fozzie or Gonzo playing a joke on him.

But, alas, it wasn't.

Grover, dragging Foster close behind him, ran up to Kermit and slammed a hand down on the desk, making a coffee cup wiggle perilously close to the edge of the desk. "How are you doing today? Do you have a moment?"

Kermit frowned. He was a good foot smaller than Grover, so he had to look up slightly like he did with Fozzie or Piggy. "Grover, I'm not going to buy anything."

Grover shook his head. "Oh, you _misunderstand_, Froggie Baby!" he replied loudly. "I am just a humble cute furry little banker now."

"Economists everywhere must feel safer," Kermit replied, while Foster stifled a laugh.

"I am sure they do," Grover said, oblivious to Kermit's sarcasm. "However, I am here on behalf of a nice young man I recently discovered. Have you met Foster Evangelos?"

"Uh," Foster began.

Kermit perked up at the last name of his good friend, Jenny. He glanced at the boy and tried hard not to look shocked. He was a lot bigger than Kermit would have expected … but that's what you get when you never met the kid. Foster had his father's eyes and his mother's lips, though. He shook his head. "I haven't had the pleasure yet," he replied. He extended a hand. "Hi, I'm Kermit the Frog."

Foster smirked briefly, shaking Kermit's hand. "Yeah, I figured. Grover went on and on about you."

"I can imagine." Kermit turned to Grover. "Do you mind if Foster and I talk business alone for a bit, Grover?"

Grover shook his head. "Oh no, Kermit. I would never impose. I will just go down to the cafeteria. It is still open, is it not?"

Kermit nodded. "Yeah, just tell them to put it on my tab."

Grover patted Kermit on the shoulder. "I would never do such a thing, Froggie Baby! I am more than capable of paying my own way." He walked over to the door leading downstairs and disappeared.

Kermit looked back at Foster. "So, Foster – what can I do for you? Is your mother okay? I haven't seen her in awhile."

Foster had a sheepish look on his face. "Uh, it's … I mean … she's … well …."

Kermit smirked. He had seen this reaction before. "Foster, just imagine me naked."

Foster's eyes nearly popped out of his head. He nearly gagged before gasping, "Y-y-you _are_ naked."

Kermit grinned. "Well, then it shouldn't be too hard, should it?" Foster averted his eyes, looking up at the high ceiling, blushing to a deep red. "Foster, look: you'll get through this conversation a lot better if you stop thinking of me as a famous guy and start thinking of me as a friend of your mom's."

Foster looked back at Kermit. He seemed so small. Was it a New York thing? How come all the Muppets he had ever met in California, especially his parents, were so much bigger than him? "Y-yes, sir, Kermit, sir," he managed to spit out finally. He sighed deeply. "I don't know how to ask you for anything."

"Try with a sentence and put a question mark after it," Kermit replied, bemused. "How about answering mine first?"

"Oh, Mom's fine, I guess. I don't see her a lot up here."

Kermit didn't respond. He'd have to call her later.

"Anyway," Foster continued, "I … uh … I wanted to get … um … your opinion on something."

Kermit nodded. "Okay, shoot. Wait," he said, "around here that's a bad phrase." He smiled. "Just ask away. If it'll save time, me and Piggy aren't married."

Foster laughed despite himself. "No, that's not it. I guess you heard about what's going on in … in California." He hung his head. "I don't know what to do. I had to come here to New York … all because people can't mind their own business."

Kermit kept a calm expression. "You're in trouble with the law?"

Foster shook his head. "The law now has a problem with _me_. With Bobby and Samson. With, with _everything_, Kermit, sir." He looked straight at the thoughtful-looking frog. "You know about Bobby and Samson, right?"

"They're your legal custodians," Kermit answered.

"They're my parents," Foster corrected, making Kermit smirk a little.

Kermit nodded. "I see. Foster, how old are you?"

"Eighteen, sir."

Kermit leaned back against the desk. "Well, why do you need permission from anyone? Why not just return to California? There's nothing that can be done legally to stop you."

Foster frowned and stared at the floor. "Frankly, Kermit, sir … I didn't think what happened was legal, either."

Kermit stared at Foster. He sat there, silent, trying to think of where to go next. "Do you need help getting to California? Does your mother know you want to go back?"

Foster kept averting his eyes. His voice was humble and low. "Samson and Lena are here. They can take me back." He glanced quickly at Kermit. "I don't know what to do when I get there, sir. I don't know what _they_ can do." His voice cracked. "I need my family."

Kermit smiled warmly. "Foster … I won't insult your intelligence by acting like I know what you're going through. For some strange reason, humans don't have much of a problem with talking non-humans. We can get away with a lot no human ever could. I also can't pretend to know why everyone, human or otherwise, does the things they do, or say the things they say. I can only tell you that if you truly believe you are right about this, that others have hurt you unfairly, you shouldn't give up trying to bring that to others' attention. Learn from the mistakes of others, as well as your own. Don't dismiss allies just because of the way they look or act. After all, if you dismiss someone, it gives someone implicit permission to dismiss you for the same reasons."

Foster nodded thoughtfully.

"Humans, by and large," Kermit continued softly, "aren't cruel. Even the ones who seem to be at first are either just afraid of something or they don't know any better. Lots of beings fear that fixing a problem labels them forever as part of the problem. The people who voted to ban things may have done it out of vindictiveness. However, I choose not to see it that way. I am a firm believer that no one is that malicious or spiteful."

"Doc Hopper? What about him?" asked Foster. "Didn't he have a hit out on you or something?"

Kermit looked perplexed briefly, then smiled in understanding. "Okay. I see where you're going with that. Here's the thing about Hopper, though: yes, he didn't care about me. He only wanted to make money and my defiance frustrated that. However, this was a man who had never been taught how to handle failure and rejection. This was a man who confused employment with sincere and loyal friendship. How did he get that way, Foster? What things happened to him in his past to make him so uncaring?"

"But he wanted to kill you anyway when you called him on it," protested Foster. "At least, that's what I remember about the story."

"But doesn't that make you even _more_ concerned about how he sank to those depths?" retorted Kermit. He sighed. "Foster … if you think people are generally evil … they have no incentive to be nice to you. Villains do bad things, and labels can force people into acting like their label's namesake. If you want people to be nice to you, you need to expect it from them."

"But they're _not_ doing the right thing! They could care less about who they hurt!" Foster yelled.

Kermit remained calm. "And how long have those people been called racist, or judgmental, or whatever? They may be exactly those things … but if that's all you ever expect out of them, that's all you'll ever get."

Foster sighed and stared at the floor again. "I don't think I can, Kermit, sir."

Kermit stared at him and shrugged slightly. "Then you're in the same boat as they are: the SS Unimaginative."

Foster looked up quizzically.

Kermit leaned forward, staring straight into the boy's eyes. "Saying those people are primitive and mindless and bigoted implies that you're better than that. However, if you suffer the same limitations they do, you really have no cause to label them that way, do you?"

Foster sighed and rolled his eyes. "Then what do you suggest, sir?"

Kermit smirked. "Be better."

**Author's Note: Kermit and Doc Hopper are Muppet properties. I totally don't own them.**


	17. Chapter 17

Bobby knocked on the front door as Piggy stood next to him, bored. "Samson!" Bobby yelled. He turned to Piggy. "Why isn't he answering the door?"

"Maybe he left you and went to McDonald's," Piggy replied with a smirk.

Bobby smirked without missing a beat. "So, find anything at Pork Store Café recently?"

Piggy laughed. "Have you tried, oh, I dunno, _calling_ your little beef stew pot?"

Bobby looked surprised. "Oh, yeah!" He dug out his cell phone from a pants pocket and dialed his partner. "Hello, Samson? Where the heck _are_ you?" His jaw slackened and his eyes bulged. "You're … you're _where_? With _Lena_?"

"I detect awkwardness," Piggy teased.

"Shut up, pig. Oh! Not you, Samson! Just some little girl who still seems upset she missed out on the football tryouts … as the football."

"Now you're just desperate," Piggy replied, bemused.

"What do you mean 'you're with a girl', Samson?" Bobby screeched, ignoring Piggy as they both stood at the front door of Bobby and Samson's house. "You're with _Le-na_. What am I supposed to think about _that_, huh? No, of course I'm not having a relationship with her. She'd give me warts!"

"_What_?" Piggy growled, clenching her fists.

Bobby suddenly chuckled. "So, Lena tricked you into going to New York, huh? That's my girl. It's about time you did something more than moan around the house." He ignored Piggy glaring at him, listening intently to Samson talk. "It's bad, huh?" Bobby added in a much more subdued tone. "Poor girl. We have to get after Foster for that, Samson. She doesn't deserve to just be treated like Arturo."

"How many boyfriends do you have?" Piggy wondered, still simmering.

Bobby put a hand over the receiver and hissed at her, "Do _you_ sleep around with your chauffeurs?" He continued talking to Samson on the phone. "I can't make it, Samson. I've got some business to take care over here." He started tapping his foot and rolling his eyes. "_Yes_, Samson. I am also capable of generating ideas, you know?" he continued, starting to sound offended. "Here's a thought: I'll do things _my_ way, and you do things _your_ way." He shook his head. "Good-_bye_, Samson." Click. He turned to Piggy. "They're in Manhattan with Jenny and Foster".

Piggy nodded and smiled. "You see? You were so worried – everything is coming together, isn't it?"

Bobby stared at her. "Did you know Jenny was depressed?"

Piggy stared at him blankly. "Why would she be depressed? She's rolling in it."

Bobby sighed and looked at the flowerbed to his left. "Apparently, putting Foster with her reminded her of not having a family."

Piggy looked down at the ground shamefully. "Why did you make him move in with _her_, then?"

"Because she's his biological mother," Bobby replied softly.

Piggy snapped to attention. "But … that would make Ronnie …."

Bobby glanced at her. "Dead, Piggy. _We're_ his fathers now."

Piggy leaned against the front door in utter disbelief. "What would make her give away a baby to _you_ clowns?"

Bobby bit his lip and glared at her. "You know us pigs, Piggy: we're always there to pick up someone else's scraps." He put a hand on his hip and pointed at her with the other. "You know what your problem is? You're not willing to stand up for anyone except yourself! That's the likeliest explanation for why your frog dumped you."

Piggy growled at him. "You're skating on _thin_ ice, Vegan."

Bobby smirked triumphantly. "When's the last time you did something nice for someone, huh?"

"I'm _not_ getting involved with this marriage thing, Vegan!" retorted Piggy in exasperation. "This has nothing to do with me!"

"So, it's all about you then, isn't it? Isn't that always the way?" He shook his head. "No wonder I don't sleep with women."

"I never said it was all about me."

"Then why can't you help?" Bobby replied, irritated. "If this doesn't affect you one little bit – why not go for it? I can't help remember that one show you did where little Robin went missing and everyone ended up being there for him – except you. Who came onscreen after Kermit? The bear. Who was also by his side? That mouse chick. Robin was the most important part of Kermit's family … and you were, what, Piggy? Applying lipstick?"

Piggy bit her lip, tears welling up in her eyes. She wanted to smack him. For several moments, she trembled, having felt this horrible only since Bobby came to her for help at the theater last year.

But, Kermit would tell her that she should hang onto the truth, shouldn't she?

"I … I … well, how do you think Kermie knew where to find him?" Piggy whimpered at last. "Who do you think told him, hm? Little short stuff would have just disappeared without the ever-watchful eye of moi." She sighed sadly. "I don't stand up for things, Bobby. I kept my mouth shut when mother kicked you out of the house." She stared up into his eyes. "But … I never forgot, Bobby. I never forgot who introduced moi to the concept of being a star. I have an image to maintain … but I have to do things _my_ way. You're not the only passive-aggressive pig around, you know. Do you know how many secrets and threats and backstabbing I had to deal with to get that priest in the church scene? I made the mistake of letting my frog find out the first time I tried it. I vowed then and there never to let that happen again. The first time I had Scooter helping me. The next time, I did it all on my own. It was only when I stopped relying on others that I actually got my way. I will never help you, Bobby Vegan," she continued. She put a hand on his and looked at him pleadingly. "However, your problems will most likely fix themselves, if you know what I mean, get it?"

* * *

Foster sipped some tea down in the cafeteria. Grover had left to go back to work, but had volunteered to pay for Foster's lunch before he returned to Bitterman Bank. He mulled over what Kermit had said.

"Hey, are you the guest star tonight?" asked a grainy male voice. A bluish-purple … thing … with a long hooked rounded nose sat down alongside a rather large chicken with blue eyeshadow. The … thing … smiled and offered his hand. "You on one of those teen drama shows or something?"

Foster smiled and shook his head, shaking the … thing's … hand. "No, I just came here to talk to Kermit the Frog." Kermit the Frog? Like this guy wouldn't know who that is? How many Kermits were walking around this theater? Idiot. "Uh … anyway, um --."

"Gonzo," the … thing … replied. He pointed to the chicken. "And this is my girlfriend, Camilla."

Foster stared at them for a moment and smirked. "Foster. Pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, the pleasure's all ours."

"Squawk!"

"Can I ask you a question?" Foster asked in almost a whisper.

Gonzo glanced at Camilla before looking at Foster. "Sure. Uh, if it'll save some time, Kermit and Piggy aren't married … and that thing with Big Bird and me was just for laughs."

"_Squawk_," replied the chicken forcefully.

Foster smiled. "No, that's not … well, here's the thing: did you hear about what happened in California?"

Gonzo nodded sadly. "Yeah. Nothing ruins a good strong wildfire like a freak storm." He looked at Foster and smiled sympathetically. "They should have poured some gasoline on the ground to keep it going."

"Um," Foster said uncomfortably, "that's not exactly where I was going with that conversation. I was talking about the banning of gay marriage."

Gonzo looked confused. He glanced back at Camilla and then back at Foster. "Why?"

"They said it was immoral."

Gonzo scoffed while Camilla shook her head. "Imagine that. I wonder what those sun-baked morons would think about an alien whatever and a chicken?"

Camilla squawked and clucked sadly, barely pecking at her corn soup.

"You're really in love with Camilla?"

"Of course!" Gonzo announced happily. "I mean … look at her … she's a goddess of fine feathered femininity!"

Camilla blushed and looked away.

"If someone took away my chickie-poo, I don't know what I'd do," Gonzo continued.

Foster leaned toward Gonzo. "My parents' marriage was invalidated," he told Gonzo. "Kermit said I should be 'better' than them, and I guess I know what he's saying, but I don't see how it'll help."

Gonzo nodded. "Yeah, Kermit's like that sometimes. He likes to leave it up to the one with the problem to come up with the details of the solution. The best part about him, though, is that he usually goes along with what you suggest, no matter how weird."

"Well, what would you do?"

Gonzo shrugged. "Gee, I dunno. I guess … I guess we'd just stay married, no matter what other people said."

Camilla perked up and leaned against him. "Squaawk?" she asked hopefully.

Gonzo glanced at his feathered girlfriend. "Camilla, I said I was thinking about it. I just don't want what happened to Kermit and Piggy to happen to _us_, that's all."

Foster looked confused. "What _did_ happen?"

Gonzo shrugged. "Ah … he got mad at her for tricking her. They get like that sometimes. He had their license invalidated and annulled." He paused. "But despite all appearances, they really do still love to make each other annoyed."

Foster could feel his blood pressure rising. "Why would Kermit do such a thing?" he strained to keep from yelling.

Gonzo sensed the boy's anger. "He feels a relationship should be built on honesty and integrity," he replied. "Foster, whenever the pig decides to do things the right way, Kermit will be right there at her side, like he always is. We've all complained that he doesn't deserve such a selfish, arrogant, passive-aggressive witch like her." He shrugged and sipped some juice. "But he shoots us down every time we mention it. I … I know what he sees in her. I also gave up waiting to see the bud blossom."

"But what's the use if everyone's going to tell you you're wrong?"

"Squawk, squawk, cluck cluck-cluck squawk," replied Camilla.

"Oh, Camilla says, and I fully agree with her, that no one can take what's in your heart. All the legal stuff is nice, but if you found that special someone, even if they strapped you to a rotating fireball in an electrical storm, that someone will still be special to you, no matter what."

**Author's Note: I still don't own any of the characters. It's the last time I'll say it.**


	18. Chapter 18

Rachel and Moulin sat next to a small pond in Central Park, watching ducks float by on the shimmering water. They held hands. Moulin glanced at Rachel, who didn't seem to be enjoying herself. "Everything alright?"

Rachel shrugged slightly. "I was told that fate would knock on my door." She glanced at Moulin. "Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be _you_. This is the second time you just show up out of nowhere." She laughed. "Some 'environmental manager' waltzed up to me and offered me a government job. Can you believe that?"

"Did she say what government?"

Rachel laughed again. "Why bother? Garbage-Gal can't land me a government contract!"

Moulin smirked. "Try to be a little nicer to her," she warned playfully. "She has more power than she looks."

"Yeah … and I control the economy more than I look."

Moulin stretched and yawned. "If you had a chance to move away from this awful place … would you?"

Rachel frowned. "You offered that before," she countered curtly.

_Rachel ordered the driver to stop. She burst out of the limo and started walking down the sidewalk in the late night hours. Moulin quickly paid the driver and exited the vehicle as well._

_"Rachel," Moulin called out, "grow up."_

_Rachel spun around and slapped Moulin. "How could you even say such a thing?"_

_Moulin crossed her arms. "I haven't lied to you in the least, Rach. Everything I told you about my life is absolutely true."_

_"Oh yeah? You're some fairy princess and if I live with you, I'll have my every wish come true? Do you even know how that sounds?" Rachel asked vehemently._

_"I'm not a 'fairy'," Moulin replied. "I'm a water-elemental fae. There's a difference."_

_"Well, excuuuse me! I'd never want to upset your magical sensibilities." She turned her back on Moulin. "Don't talk to me. I'll be changing my number, psycho wench."_

"And for reasons I still have trouble understanding," replied Moulin, "you rejected my offer."

Rachel glared at her. "You're kidding, right? There's no such thing as magic and stardust and crap like that. Dreams are for losers."

"Then you must have plenty of them," retorted Moulin, slightly offended. "Why is it humans always whine about wanting more out of their lives, and when it's served on a silver platter, it's rejected?"

"You tell me, Moulin," grumbled Rachel. "Let me tell you what 'humans' experience: I got your message loud and clear. You had told me that you had 'other engagements'. Your job was more important than me."

"I offered to take you with me," interrupted Moulin. "_You_ rejected _me_."

"I rejected a bunch of BS someone comes up with when they're too cowardly to tell the truth."

Moulin growled to herself and stared at the pond. A flock of ducks swam slowly by. She stretched out her hand and a huge wave appeared out of nowhere and drenched the waterfowl, causing them to scatter. She spotted Rachel gawking at her out of the corner of her eye and smiled. "That was rather therapeutic and stress-relieving. Those therapists in the hospital _did_ say I should learn to express myself more emphatically."

Rachel gulped and looked back out at the water. "After I left you, I tried to get hired at Bitterman Bank. At the time, the fact that I had loved you had reached someone's ears, and I was rejected. I wooed one of the aging members of the board of directors and … landed a spot on the fast-track to success. I rode that train until it reached its destination … and I ended up the owner."

Moulin stared at her. "Your determination has always been admirable," she noted with a sense of satisfaction. "The time will come when my destiny reappears before me. I'm not asking you to live some Disney musical. I'm asking you to join me in a kingdom that rivals few." She smirked. "I'm offering you your dreams, Rach. You tell everyone you want money and power. You can have all that and more: you can also have me."


	19. Chapter 19

Jenny and Lena finally made it back to Jenny's place after having a late lunch. It had been such a long time since Jenny had had "girl time". She missed having someone to talk to and not mention business. It had been so, so long.

Jenny stopped just outside the front door when it was blocked by a dark-skinned woman in a light green tank top and blue jeans. Her black hair had sea-green highlights and was pulled back with a small barrette shaped like a tiny paper fan. She smiled. "Jennifer Evangelos? Do you mind if I speak with you for just a moment?"

Lena smirked at Jenny and nodded. "I'll go on ahead, Jenny. I need to see if Sammy needs anyzing anyway."

When Lena disappeared Jenny crossed her arms and sighed. "Ma'am, if it's alright with you, I'm really not in the mood to talk."

The woman smiled. "I promise this won't take long. My name is Eshe. I'm an environmental manager. 'The Queen of Trash' is a rather amusing nickname I was given."

Jenny smirked. "I haven't been recycling plastic bottles like I should. Is there a fine or something?"

Eshe laughed and shook her head. "I was hoping to help you with your son, Foster, is it?"

Jenny frowned. "How do you know Foster?"

Eshe kept her cheerful disposition. "He was mentioned by a recent friend of mine," she told Jenny.

"MM?"

Eshe nodded. "Yes, thanks to your son, 'MM' has found the one she was looking for. He's such a nice young man." She looked down and sighed. "Sadly, Foster was disappointed to realize that his love interest was … well … heh … not interested. I was wondering if you'd accept my assistance to show Foster how to cope with such things."

Jenny stared at the front door. She could just open that door and ignore this intrusion. She shook her head. "He doesn't consider himself my son."

Eshe looked at Jenny more thoughtfully. "I'm sorry."

"He was given up for adoption and he resents it."

Eshe chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Jenny demanded.

"From what I've heard, Ms. Evangelos, what he resents is his government, his neighbors, his peers … all combining to restrict the definition of partnership." She approached Jenny. "Ms. Evangelos – you did not 'throw your child away.' You provided for him. If the boy is telling you that he resents you, you have to understand what young men are like. They have a tendency to blame whoever's convenient, not the actual problematic person."

Jenny flicked away some strands of hair from her face. "I'm still confused about how this is all your business."

Eshe grew more serious. "I am attracted to anyone who feels 'thrown away', Ms. Evangelos. I am not here to help you because you never were. Your father didn't leave you. He helped you 'til his dying day. Your husband promoted your rise to fame and passed away in the service of his country. You were given _so_ much, Ms. Evangelos. It is the boy I'd like to talk to."

Jenny flashed an expression of jealousy. "His feelings of being 'thrown away' are real while mine are imaginary?" She clenched her jaw. "You said he was given new opportunities. I know he was given a family who loves him and whom he prefers to be around. They helped him with his studies. He's become someone who's willing to help others, despite how bad he feels. In my opinion, he hasn't really been thrown away either."

Eshe smirked and nodded. "You must have wonderful friends, Ms. Evangelos," she noted with satisfaction. "You should hang out with them more, no matter how strange they are." She looked at a small watch on her wrist. "Well, I really must be going. I, too, have to check in with family every once in awhile." She looked up. "I apologize if I seemed intrusive, Ms. Evangelos. I just wanted to assess if you needed anything." She handed her a small business card. "If you should need anything, anything at all … please don't hesitate to contact me."


	20. Chapter 20

Foster appeared at the front door and saw that several suitcases were standing next to it. He knocked.

Lena opened the door impatiently. "Oh, Foster," she said, "your stuff is right zere. We're going."

Foster stared at her in disbelief. He suddenly smiled. "We're going home? Really?"

Lena turned and went back into Jenny's apartment as Samson pushed a large suitcase on rollers out to the hallway. He exhaled, wiping his brow. "Foster, _we're_ going home."

Foster's face fell. "What the heck does _that_ mean?"

Jenny appeared in the doorway. "Foster, you're leaving this apartment. I've agreed to help pay half your ticket to California if you still want to go. Samson and Lena'll be paying the other half."

"I'll get Bobby to see if he can find you a place," added Samson. "It's time you started pulling your --."

"Wait a minute!" Foster protested. He glanced at Jenny and nodded. "I see. I don't suck up to Mom and I'm being kicked out, is that it?"

"Pretty much," Lena retorted as she dumped some bags in the hallway. She patted him on the shoulder with a smile. "Oh, and we're not carrying your bags."

"What in God's name brought all _this_ on?"

Samson stared at him. "You've been rude and ungrateful to Jenny. Lena, Bobby, and I have all discussed it: you want to be an adult ... you're going to act like one."

Jenny added in a frustrated tone, "You don't have a job, you don't pay rent, and you refuse any familial relationship to me. Why should I be giving you a free ride?"

Foster clenched his fist, his teeth grating against each other. "I was kicked _out_ of my family ...."

Jenny smirked. "Well, I'm not your family." She started counting her fingers. "Let's see, you can't stay with your parents, you failed at staying with me, and your boyhood crush left you high and dry at the bank." She shrugged. "What happened to you anyway?"

Foster steamed. "She left me for that money-hungry broad, is what she did," he grumbled.

Jenny's eyes widened and she gasped. She started to laugh with relief. "That definitely explains _so_ much!"

Foster glared at her. "I'm so _happy_ you're entertained, _Mother_," he shot back sarcastically.

Jenny shrugged again. "Well, it seems no one wants to be around someone who always takes things for granted." She went back into the apartment.

Lena brought out the last bag and closed the door. "Get your stuff, kid ... unless of course you plan on staying here in New York?"

"I'm _not_ a child!" Foster complained.

"Then why are you acting like one?" Samson replied casually as he started moving his own baggage.

Foster watched the two walk down the short hallway. "Bobby wouldn't do this to me!"

Samson stopped, barely looking over his shoulder. "It was his idea."

"And mine," Lena added. "Jenny has her own problems. She doesn't need some whiny brat with hormonal problems ruining her life."

"That's her response to _everything_!" Foster erupted. "Go run and hide when family doesn't snap to attention like she wants!"

Samson turned around and stomped up to Foster and pinned him to the wall, struggling to keep his hooves from hurting his adopted son's frail human chest, for the edges could be quite sharp sometimes. He glared at the teenager. "Sometimes _resolving_ the issue works. Isn't that what you told me on the phone?" he asked tensely. "You dump your mother at the first moment to go girl-chasing at a hospital ... where patients are supposed to be _free_ of outside stress ... and you think this is all _her_ fault? All she wanted was to take you in and _try_ to provide for you ... and you spit in her face! That's _not_ the boy we raised!" His voice kept rising. "We expected _more_ than a kid biting the hand that feeds him!" He reluctantly let go, feeling somewhat guilty when Foster tenderly rubbed his chest. He sighed and lowered his volume. "We'll help you get back to California if you'd be happier there. However, you're eighteen years old. If independence is what you want, that's what you're going to get."

Foster was scared silent. Samson had _never_ raised hoof nor horn to him, not in his entire childhood. Samson was strong enough to pull bullriding equipment out of the floor of a bar ... something he had witnessed on at least two occasions when Samson got tired of a bunch of drunks teasing him about rodeos and how long it took to shake a man off him. It was Samson who had taught him the importance of keeping calm, since it was Bobby who taught him how to outwit others and passionately defend himself in a fight. To see Samson use force, even if he _was_ restraining himself, made the front side of his jeans darken down the leg.

* * *

Moulin watched the argument in the reflection of a small pool of water in her coffee cup. Watching him humbled gave her both joy and sorrow.

Eshe sat down beside her in the bookstore with the coffee shop inside. She smiled. "Find something to entertain you in here?" She looked around. "You always _were_ such a bookworm."

Moulin didn't reply.

Eshe shook her head, her hair almost completely sea-green now. "How's that girlfriend of yours?"

"The boy got kicked out of his mother's apartment," Moulin answered.

Eshe rubbed her tongue over her teeth. "Well, he hasn't been abandoned, so really I'm not obligated to do anything about it."

Moulin finally looked up. "Is that the _only_ reason you help others?" She glared at Eshe. "Does someone have to be at the end of their rope to get some compassion out of you?"

Eshe frowned and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "You're not exactly Miss Warm 'N' Cozy, yourself, sister," she snapped. "Humans denied magic. They became dull to it. They have to _need_ it severely for us to have any _lasting_ impact." She sipped some coffee. "I didn't create the situation, no matter how frustrating it is." She sipped some more and shrugged. "We're some of the few left who still give a --."

"Why?" Moulin interrupted. "The King of the Universe ran away from humans, then had the audacity to bewail the lost love between them. Now it seems like no one wants to make this poor, wretched world better ... even though, if we all banded together, we could with a mere _snap_ of our fingers."

"They have to settle this themselves," Eshe replied.

"A response of the lazy and apathetic," Moulin shot back darkly.

Eshe glared at her. "What makes you think magic can solve all of their problems? They _had_ paradise at their fingertips. 'Golden Ages' never last long in the human world."

Moulin smirked and leaned back. "In the hospital, I watched TV shows, where houses needed remodeling or cleaning, or restaurants needed revamping. In every single case, the problem had become so overwhelming, the humans just gave up and called experts for help." Her expression changed to that of puzzled sadness and pleading. "Would you demand the legless walk?"

Eshe smirked. "It's been done."

Moulin shook her head. "And when it doesn't work? What then? Do you just abandon the helpless because they don't fit in your schedule? Is it more important for the man to walk to the water fountain or for him to get a drink?"

Eshe shook her head. "We both know there are those of us who are amused to help humans, even for sincerely compassionate reasons," she told the younger fae. "What you're suggesting flies in the face of our very existence, though. We stay separate from them for a reason."

"Again," Moulin grumbled, "the response of the lazy and apathetic."

"The guardian of this world will never let you do as you suggest," Eshe lectured sternly.

"Why not? _She_ does," Moulin protested. "She supposedly outpowers us _all_, and we're left as spectators. Why can't we do something to fix things?"

"It's not our place," Eshe told her calmly and softly.

Moulin stood up and banged her fist on the table. "Why promote teamwork and harmony when no one is allowed to team up?" she hissed. "To dismiss potential allies just because they're different than you is poor management."

Eshe shifted her weight uncomfortably. She looked as though she wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.

Moulin sighed and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. "Out of respect over jurisdictional procedures, I will, of course, request an audience and not just act on my own," she informed Eshe. She opened her eyes. "But the humans are obviously overwhelmed. Their fault in the matter is irrelevant. Common decency, heck, even good long-term strategy dictates fixing this world for the better." She pointed at her cup. "That boy _needs_ help. We shouldn't have to wait for him to articulate it."

Eshe rolled her eyes. "You _really_ think that issue is more important than any other dozens of things that are wrong with this world?"

Moulin smiled. "Fix the small problems first, and you have the resources to fix the really _big_ ones."


	21. Chapter 21

A lone small sofa sat in the middle of a large meadow which was decorated with multitudes of rainbow-colored flowers of every variety. Moulin cautiously looked around and sat down. A small black device rested on the nearest arm of the sofa, marked "Pager". She accessed it and watched it buzz.

"You know," a female voice began from behind, "it seems like anyone can just walk on in here."

Moulin turned to see a dark-skinned athletic woman with long ebony braids and a winning smile stand behind her. She wore loose-fitting brilliantly white clothes.

"So," the woman continued, "it's been awhile since I got any visitors from your neck of the woods." She pointed to the field, which dissolved into a beach environment, the roaring waves splashing just a few feet in front of them, though they did not get wet. "Is this better?"

Moulin didn't answer.

The woman casually sighed and sat down on the sofa and watched the waves as seagulls flew by. "I just love the beach," the woman told Moulin cheerfully.

Moulin smiled politely.

The woman sighed and slapped her own thigh. "So ... let's get down to business, since you're obviously not the small talk-type, are you? I hardly think sending a hurricane to Hollywood will do much."

Moulin frowned. "Milady," she said finally, "you are not against consequences. There are those who hide behind purity while wallowing in the mud. Why must they escape justice?"

The woman shook her head slightly. "Moulin, your integrity and love of justice has always been quite admirable. That said, even with your powers of foresight, you don't see very well." She took a small golden remote control out of her pocket, summoning a large flat-screen television which floated in the air just in front of them. She pushed a couple of buttons. Throngs of people appeared, as if they were on a reality hidden-camera show. "See all these people? Can you tell which ones deserve intervention?"

Moulin shook her head. "With all due respect, Milady, the comparison fails. You _know_ which ones deserve it."

The woman nodded. "But _you_ don't. That's my point. Just watching them, they're all equal."

Moulin cringed. "They're not. Some are outgoing, some are hermits, some are nice, some are vindictive."

The woman shrugged. "The pros and cons balance out most of the time." She looked at Moulin. "I _do_ adjust the settings when the settings get out of whack." She sighed. "Look: this isn't some kid's show. Bad days happen." She stared at Moulin expectantly. "Come on, Moulin ... spit it out!" she barked sharply.

Moulin gulped. "Milady, I feel the writer of this show doesn't have the audience's best interests at heart and it shows in the poor ratings."

The woman laughed. "Poor ratings? Humans scramble all over themselves to bring in more people in the world. If it were _really_ that bad, why the insistence on reproduction?"

Moulin scowled. "Hormones."

The woman shook her head. "Animals and plants can defer the biological clock when needed. Humans are no different ... or any other creature, for that matter," she added, glancing knowingly at Moulin. "It's not like they can't help themselves. I set the bar rather high for stopping behavior to keep it from seeming far too demanding. No one likes micromanagement."

"So beings should suffer?"

The woman's expression became dead serious. "Moulin, I know along the timeline, the idea got into people's heads that all I did all day was go around listening to chanting and sipping some Shiraz and making flowers bloom. One person's problem is another person's solution. One person's trash is another person's treasure. I don't do the whole 'one-size-fits-all' thing, girlfriend. I need my stuff custom-tailored. That _does_ mean that some won't like something. I'm not going to spoon-feed anyone."

Moulin stood. "I'm not asking for perfection --."

"So if I just cooked something up half-baked, it'd be a solution no one'd gripe about?" wondered the woman.

"Boss!" Moulin exclaimed in frustration. "Don't you understand? This won't stop until you make an example of someone!"

The Boss smiled briefly. "A long time ago, people would wonder why a hurricane would come to some place like Galveston or New Orleans and trash whole neighborhoods while sparing the saloons and nightclubs. You know what conclusion the people who were supposed to be getting 'the example' conceived? They said the Ultimate Evil spared the sinners to spite Me." She scoffed. "This is why I stopped the natural disaster punishment deal, Moulin. The ones who I wanted to pay attention just believed whatever they wanted anyway. They pray for all that destruction to shame their enemies, but when _they_ get that treatment, suddenly _I'm_ either cruel or incompetent." She stared at Moulin with a pained expression on her face. "I'll keep an eye on things, Moulin ... but I'm not going to bow before mortals or immortals just because they want to whine."

* * *

Kermit slowly dialed the phone. He breathed deeply. It had been months since they had really, _really_ talked. He felt so guilty. It rang. "Hi, this is Kermit. I ... uh ... I just wanted to say I've missed talking to you. I know I've been busy, but that's no excuse. I still think about you a --." There was a beep. It was another caller. He sighed and pushed the button. "Hello? This is Kermit the Frog."

"Hey, Kermit," said a female voice glumly. "Would it be possible to talk to you?"

"Jenny?" Kermit gasped in shock. "Uh, yeah. I was trying to call Piggy ... but you know her ... she never keeps her cell on." Now he _really_ felt like a heel. She sounded _awful_.

"How about Charlie's in an hour?"

"Um ... sure," Kermit responded unsurely.

**Author's Note: The Boss is from It's a Very Merry Muppet Christmas Movie. "Charlie's" is a Sesame Street restaurant.**


	22. Chapter 22

Kermit glanced up when Jenny appeared in the front lobby of Charlie's, whose service and menu fluctuated about every financial quarter. He could imagine Gordon Ramsay filming there some day, promising to re-invent the place. He smiled and hugged Jenny, who quietly hugged him back. Her hair was down, her clothes very casual -- nothing like her usual business-ready self at all.

"Thanks for seeing me, Kermit," Jenny replied softly.

"No problem," he replied. They waited on bench to be seated. "So -- uh, what's new with you?"

Jenny smiled politely. "Did you know I had a son, Kermit?"

Kermit nodded slowly. "Yeah, actually, I did. Foster showed up at the theater earlier. We had a nice conversation."

Jenny looked at him in shock. "What did he say?"

Kermit didn't want to volunteer anything until Jenny gave details first. He didn't mind helping others, but he didn't like looking as though he went behind others' backs, either. He shrugged and chuckled with a sheepish grin, "He's your typical eighteen-year-old boy ... guess." Jenny looked confused. He sighed. "Relationships."

Jenny nodded. She didn't say any more for several moments, then reported, "I kicked him out of my apartment."

Kermit stared at her for a moment. He gulped and tried to remain somewhat cheerful. "Oh, is that so?"

Jenny nodded again. "It just wasn't working out, Kermit," she replied softly as she stared at the floor. "I just couldn't make him love me."

Kermit nodded and also stared at the floor, his voice quieter. "No one can, Jenny."

"We have a table for two," announced a perky waitress.

After they sat down at the table, Jenny picked at the silverware. "Part of me feels guilty, but another part of me says, 'He's eighteen years old! He needs to get out on his own.'" She glanced at her long-time friend. "What do _you_ think?"

Kermit gulped. "You're one of the most rational people I know," he began slowly. "Only you know what you need to be happy."

Jenny smirked. "That's a nice way of saying you don't want to get involved."

Kermit gawked at her. She had _never_ acted offended by him before, even when he would rebuke her sharply when frustrated. Finally, he said, "Is there anything I can do?"

The waitress reappeared and laughed as she gave them menus. "You know," she told Kermit, "I really hope you say 'yes' this time."

Kermit glanced at the waitress in confusion. "Beg pardon?"

Jenny frowned. "Can we have a moment alone, please?"

The waitress shrugged. "Sure thing, lady ... but after all that trouble Miss Piggy went to ... I don't think she'd like hearing her frog's on a date with another woman," she replied with a wink and a smirk and left.

Kermit and Jenny glanced at each other and shrugged. They ate in silence for a bit, since they didn't want to continue the conversation while Little Miss Perky Eavesdropper "helped" move the dialogue along. At last, they left and walked down Sesame Street. Jenny had rarely gone there ... and even Kermit barely hung out there anymore ... but he smiled when he saw how far things had come. It was greener, cleaner ... yet still the friendly place he had come to know and love when he was younger. He still kept his house nearby, though now he rented it out most of the time.

Jenny suddenly stopped in front of an electronics display just outside of Nickles Department Store, making Kermit bump unceremoniously into her. She turned his head so he could see a row of televisions of all shapes and sizes.

On nearly every screen, Miss Piggy, decked out in a sparkling dark green dress, surrounded by hundreds of red roses, smiled warmly at the camera.

"As you may know," Piggy began with her typically melodious voice, "celebrity worship is just your average day on the job here in Hollywood. If you search online for questions about my cute little Kermie et moi, you get nearly a hundred-thousand search results. Celebrity marriages in general? Over eighteen million. Why, even for fictional cartoon thieves Jessie and James, over two-thousand. Go on youtube: the wedding between Kermie et moi? Over 200,000 views per video. Celebrity weddings in general? In the hundreds or thousands." Screencaptures from various sources appeared as she rattled off statistics. Finally, she reappeared among piles of fashion magazines. "That is just the things online, mes amis! Look at all the celebrity magazines! They're just _filled_ with relationships that are, quite frankly," she quickly growled, "_none of your beeswax_! _Are your lives so boring that you don't have anything else better to do than live your relationship fantasies through US?_" She quieted down, her melodious voice returning. "This state has seen so much melodrama over who gets to marry whom. I don't care _what_ side you are in the debate ... _IF MARRIAGE IS SO D--- SACRED TO YOU ... STOP BLUBBERING OVER ALL OF OURS!_ End the financial exploitation of the wedded ... or the divorced. Make marriage special again, mes amis -- don't drag it through the mud." She paused as the camera inched closer. "Coming from a pig -- that's quite an insult."

Jenny and Kermit gawked in silence at the televisions, their jaws threatening to smack the sidewalk beneath them.

Jenny gasped after several minutes. "What was _that_ all about?"

Kermit stood silent, watching her soft face radiate a certain light. Certainly, she used sophisticated lighting techiques ... but she was nearly angelic. He finally noticed Jenny's awestruck expression reflected in the glass window.

Could this be about ...?

* * *

Bobby spewed whiskey across the bar as he watched the television. He nearly fell over as Piggy complained about nosy idol-worshippers.

_"Well, how DO, Little Miss?" Bobby asked as Miss Piggy hopped out of the small bus, coming home from day care. "Did you have fun today?"_

_Piggy nodded, her thumb in her mouth. She took it out to smooth the ruffles on her frilly pink dress. Her hair looked freshly washed. "I played a queen today," she chirped. She kept her eyes off of her older brother. "I wanted to be Snow White," she continued sadly. "The Queen gets punished at the end of the play. It is Snow White who gets her handsome prince."_

_Bobby laughed. "Oh, Piggy -- you're too much!" He patted her on the back. "Who cares about the rich maid? It's the Queen who is important to the story."_

_Piggy groaned. "But she is evil," she protested._

_"But she'll live in our imaginations forever," Bobby reminded her as he kneeled down in front of her, running his fingers tenderly through her short hair. "Just because a character is in the title doesn't make that character the most important one, you know." He kissed her on the forehead. "You gotta learn which parts are worth having, Little Miss," he told her fondly. "Getting kissed does not make a better character."_

The bartender groaned as she started to mop up the liquor everywhere. She glanced at the television. "I think certain places just froze over," she noted to keep from strangling her best customer. "I never thought that stuck-up little spoiled princess of pork (no offense, Bobby) would basically tell off all of her fans."

* * *

Gonzo watched the youtube version of Piggy's rant on Scooter's computer in the Muppet Theater.

Scooter, surrounded by half a dozen theater employees, sat in utter disbelief. He adjusted his glasses. "What brought _that_ on?"

Fozzie the Bear adjusted his red polka-dotted necktie and fanned himself with his brown hat. "She musta lost her marbles," he muttered.

Beaureguard, the hard-working but somewhat naive janitor, started to walk out of Scooter's office.

"Where are you going?" Gonzo asked.

The janitor stopped as he opened the door. "I gotta go look for marbles," he replied. "Havin' them on the floor could lead to an accident!"

"_Beaureguard_!" the others moaned, shaking their heads.

Scooter typed on the computer. "Wow. This vid's spreading pretty quick," he noted. "It's only been up for an hour or so, and there's already a million hits!"

"So much for wanting privacy," Fozzie grumbled.

Gonzo quietly slipped past them and went to the desk where Kermit kept all of his stuff. He started packing things.

Scooter noticed the whatever was gone. "Hey, what happened to Gonzo?"

Fozzie looked around and shrugged. "You know how he gets sometimes about Piggy."

"_SQUAWK SQUAWK!_" Camilla protested angrily.

Fozzie put his hat to his brown furry chest. "Sorry, Camilla ... I didn't mean anything by it."

The phone rang just above Gonzo. He answered it.

"Gonzo?" Kermit asked. "Will you --?"

"Already got it covered," Gonzo replied, hanging up.

**Author's Note: I still don't own the Muppets ... any of them. Nickles Department Store is apparently from a Sesame Street kid's book.**


	23. Chapter 23

Moulin watched the crowds walk or run past her at the airport.

_She arrived just outside that Chinese Theater in Hollywood. She watched as protests marched up and down the street. Insults, then rocks and molotov cocktails were hurled._

_Moulin couldn't watch them fight each other anymore. She summoned all of her power. Black clouds miles high swirled above their heads. Thunder cracked and rolled. Lightning pierced the darkened sky. Stiff gusts of wind nearly pushed the protesters over on the street._

_The downpour didn't ease for hours. The water rising up to everyone's waists was the only indication how serious the damage was, since no one could see through the massive blasts of rain._

_Moulin grinned as bodies started to float by. If she couldn't punish the most hateful side ... she'd destroy them all._

Well, that is what she _felt_ like doing, anyway.

She saw a tall bipedal bull and a nearly anorexic Caucasian woman with short brown hair laugh as they strolled casually as airport staff helped with the luggage.

Following behind them, at a considerable distance, was ... Foster? He looked like he had been whacked with the newspaper far too often. The animals on Animal Cops looked more cheerful.

"Foster?" Moulin asked loudly as she walked up to him.

He glanced at her and scoffed as he continued to lug his suitcases.

Moulin followed him. "Let me help you with those."

He shook his head.

Moulin continued to walk briskly alongside him. "Foster ... I want to help you."

"Done a bang-up job, so far," he snapped.

Moulin waited a few moments before replying, "Foster, I never said I loved you like that." She stopped him. "Look, let me help you."

"I'll be _late_," he retorted.

Moulin kept her hold on him. "It's not like that'll be the only plane. Do you really want to sit next to your father?"

Foster jerked back, his face growing pale. "I ... I never said he was ..."

Moulin frowned. "You're denying it?"

Foster slammed down his stuff. "_What the heck is going on_? _How do you even know my family? Are you some sick Norman Bates-wannabe or something? Are you spyin' on me?"_

Moulin sighed and smiled. "No, Foster. I'm not a voyeur. You left the bank so suddenly, I realized what had happened. Rachel looked up the surveillance cameras which showed you leaving with some little blue furry thing. I only tracked you down. I didn't want you to leave with the wrong impression."

"That you're a lesbian?" he hissed.

Moulin's smile faded. "That I want you to be happy," she replied softly.

Foster chuckled. "Yeah, good luck with that. I've been kicked out of my mother's apartment."

"Is everything alright here?" Samson asked, suddenly beside Moulin. Lena stood beside him, surveying Moulin's curves with rapt attention.

Moulin glanced at the bull and then at Foster. She grinned. "Yes, sir. I came to thank your son before he left. I assume he's going back to California?"

Samson and Lena glanced at each other. "You're the woman he met?"

"Ze boy has an attitude ... but his taste is surely sound," Lena noted with overt satisfaction.

"Lena," Samson said, rolling his eyes. He nodded at Moulin. "We're all happy to learn you found your friend." Moulin shot a quick glance at Foster and so did Samson as Foster averted his eyes. "Still, I hope I don't sound rather rude, but we have a plane to catch. Come on, son," he added.

Moulin watched as Foster continued on with the bull and the woman, not looking back.

Though Lena did.

With a smirk, no less.

Moulin walked over to a row of payphones and dialed Rachel's number. Despite the fact she knew Rachel was in her office, the voicemail function was activated. "Hi, Rachel, this is Moulin. I guess you're right. Dreams are for losers. It's just that ... _I_ was the one with the dream. _I_ wanted the fairy tale, Rach. With everything we've been through ... I thought we truly deserved each other. We both wanted the top spot. I guess that's where my dreams ended. You don't want to share. This time I'll be more explicit, so you won't be left hanging ... I'm leaving for California. I hear Tinseltown is a fun place to be." She smirked, nearly laughing to herself. "Good-bye, Rach. It was positively magical to see you again. Good luck with your business."

Click.


	24. Chapter 24

**Warning: Samson's flashback gets rather violent.**

Kermit took his seat on the plane.

_"Here you go, Kermit," Gonzo, in his wildly-patterned long-sleeve shirt, said, holding a suitcase._

_"That didn't take long," Kermit replied with a smirk._

_Gonzo returned the smile and shrugged. "Helps when you never wear anything."_

_Kermit gave a fake pout. "Yes, I do, Gonzo."_

_"I put the tux in there too," Gonzo added with a wink._

_"Gonzo, I --."_

_Gonzo sighed and put a hand on his boss' ... his friend's ... shoulder. "None of us get any younger, Kermit. Make it work this time."_

_Kermit sighed and took his friend's hand off. "Gonzo," he replied in an exasperated tone, "you don't even know what --."_

_Gonzo smiled. "I know exactly, Kermit. I've been there, done that. I thought she worshipped showmanship more than anything else. The crazier I got, the further she walked away." He sighed, his voice nearly cracking. "Do you know how that feels? Heh, I guess you do ... except you went in the opposite direction. The more she pushed, the more you pulled. You thought humility was the key to her heart ... and all she seemed to do was resent you for it."_

_Kermit scrunched up his face. "You're not exactly helping, Gonzo."_

_Gonzo glanced up at Camilla's dressing room, a silly grin on his face. "I don't regret it, of course. Camilla's the best thing that ever happened to me. Lots of every kind of creature are my friends ... but ... well ... she was the first one to love me, REALLY love me, Kermit. If I hadn't chased after Piggy when I was younger, I never would have realized what requited love actually was." He stared back at his boss, his friend, his eyes shimmering. "Don't screw this up, Kermit. I think that commercial was for YOU. I think she's saying she gets it, what you've wanted out of her for so many years. Everyone deserves a chance to be happy with the one he or she ... or it ... loves, you know?"_

Kermit flipped through a small photo album. His eyes rested on the wedding shot from _Manhattan Melodies_. How could that have gone so wrong? It had been so simple. Gonzo would have played the priest, and the epilogue would have shown everyone celebrating their new-found fame (or regained fame, if one considered it a sequel to that first movie they did).

Then the priest, an honest-to-goodness, real human priest walked onstage.

He had wanted to shoot a dirty glance at his friends behind him.

He had wanted to improv his way out of it.

_"Do you take Piggy to be your lawfully wedded wife, until you die?" asked the priest in song._

It wasn't that she tricked him. He wasn't _that_ against marrying her. Her creativity and passion attracted him. Playing pranks was a fine, upstanding Muppet tradition, after all.

They had both come from humble beginnings.

Here they were, standing before just about everyone they ever knew, plus the entire audience ... and later, theaters and even the internet.

Their wedding wasn't a wedding ... it was a theatrical extravaganza.

He just didn't like sharing his "I do's" with the rest of the world.

That was all.

* * *

Samson closed his eyes, listening to MP3s stored on his cell phone, as he sat near the window on the plane. He could feel Lena twisting and turning, no doubt scoping out everyone around them to see who was hot enough to enjoy during the flight or afterwards.

_Just because they got a divorce didn't stop Samson from watching her dance at the club. She was smart, beautiful, and compassionate. She had been everything he had ever wanted in a partner. He just felt guilty that it wasn't her femininity he wanted._

_"Hey," whispered a guy next to him, "wanna go out back?"_

_"Thanks, no," replied Samson quietly. "I'm here for Lena."_

_"Yeah, right," chuckled the guy. "Come on, I wanna be a bullrider."_

_Samson glared at him. "Then go to a rodeo," he retorted angrily._

_The guy, rather buff, stopped smiling. He stood up. "You threatenin' me, Burger Boy?"_

_"Well, HEY," exclaimed a large pig with a small tuft of black hair as he sat down beside Samson, cheerfully wrapping one arm around Samson's broad shoulders, "I thought you were meeting me in the car?"_

_Samson gawked in shock at this strange, and rather FORWARD, pig._

_He couldn't tell who disgusted him more. Couldn't he just be left alone?_

_"Back off, Pork Chop," snapped the club patron._

_"The name's Bobby," the pig oozed with a deadly tone. He stood up. "And I think you owe us an apology."_

_The club patron responded by decking Bobby in the jaw, sending him back a few inches. His bulk kept the pig standing, however._

_"That's enough," Samson told the aggressive young man. "This is hardly the time --." Soon, another punch thrown his way sent him to the floor, smashing the chair underneath him._

_The music stopped. Lena jumped on the jerk and scratched at him. He struggled a bit before throwing her off._

_"Hasn't your momma ever told ya not to hit women?" Bobby replied, kicking the table into the gut of the buff but angry patron, making him double over. He rubbed his chin. "I think you actually BRUISED me! Oh, it's over, you bald chimpanzee!"_

_Samson wobbled a bit as he stood up. He watched as the fight continued, with Bobby easily able to take a lot of hits, unlike the creepy human patron._

_And then the human backhanded Lena and kicked Bobby where the sun didn't shine._

_Samson saw red. No one else was in the club anymore, according to Samson. There was only this one guy. He sped toward him, lowering his horns, bellowing as loudly as he could._

_When it was all over, the man slowly slumped over after having been pinned to the wall, his shirt staining red._

_Bobby and Lena gawked in disbelief. They glanced at each other._

_Was it safe to approach him?_

_Neither knew for certain._

* * *

Moulin found Foster over in coach, near the tail of the plane. She sat down beside him, smiling.

He didn't look at her. "Great," he said, "you're a stalker, too."

Moulin rolled her eyes. "Have you ever been in love, Foster?"

"I've had some girlfriends, if that's what you're asking."

"Anything lasting, or just some hormonal mood swings?" she asked sincerely.

He didn't respond.

She leaned back against the chair, reading the short signs above her head, warning about smoking and such. "I first fell in love many years ago."

"I really don't want to hear about you and Ms. Bitterman," Foster told her curtly.

Moulin lowered her head. "I wasn't talking about her." She sighed. "It was my first ball. I could sense the power emanating from someone in the room. It was intoxicating. She had flax-colored hair, flowing down beyond her shoulders. She wore an ornate white dress with long white gloves, which contrasted sharply with her darkened skin. Pearls and diamonds were scattered across her shoulders. She wore a dark red mask that covered half her face. She was gentle and kind and exceedingly graceful on the dance floor, as though she knew dance steps instinctively. That was ... thirteen years ago?" she asked wistfully.

Foster glanced at her in confusion. "I thought, you and Ms. Bitterman, well, hooked up in 1980. Thirteen years ago was 1999."

Moulin smiled. "I told you time was relative." She glanced at him. "Magic opens up so many possibilities."

"So, you're magic," Foster said in an unbelieving tone.

Moulin nodded. "Everyone is, Foster. Magic is an act of will. Everyone from ancient Middle Eastern carpenters to tiny wrinkled green-skinned swamp aliens agree: to believe is to do."


	25. Chapter 25

Rachel Bitterman listened intently to her voicemail.

_YOU rejected ME._

Despite watching Moulin summon a small wave to drown some ducks earlier, Rachel couldn't believe all this silly talk about magic. Magic didn't exist.

Still, she _had_ reappeared just when Rachel was starting to miss her the most.

_For the record, I consider that flying pig to be a coincidence and not a sign from God!_

She smirked.

She had gone to great lengths to obtain the Muppet Theater so that she could open a nightclub. It was dark, minimalist, seductive ... everything she thought Moulin would have enjoyed.

But she never came back.

She had called and called, only getting curt responses from some male personal assistant of hers who sounded like he had emphysema or something. Moulin never called back.

And now she knew why.

She had been attacked viciously because she was in love with Rachel. She had defended her lover with every fiber of her being to keep her safe. She had nearly given her life ... for someone all too willing to dump her to keep from addressing her issues.

_Women were beginning to lead countries that weren't kingdoms starting in the mid-seventies. Rachel loved sitting down in front of her family's new color television set, squealing with delight over each of Charlie's Angels. They got what they wanted, exploiting men's wiles to their own advantage._

_It was a lesson she never forgot growing up._

_The way they moved, the way they acted ... it was ballet, at least for her. They could punch a guy out without breaking a nail._

_They were perfect ... truly real angels sent from Heaven._

_In 1977, Rachel defied her parents and skipped out one late night to watch a movie. It was so bawdy and bizarre that she immediately fell in love, singing loudly along with each and every song. Her heart raced as the antagonist, dressed in a black corset, hunted down the heroes._

_The idea of meeting and being seduced by other-worldly creatures fascinated her._

_And then her father found out when he opened her bedroom door, that she was rehearsing each inappropriate song in her bedroom, complete with rough costumes she made herself. She had been kissing a female doll lovingly, wishing that she could experience that self-same magic that had appeared onscreen._

_The police had been called to the house due to the disturbance, with the father screaming and throwing her things out into the yard, aiming for her, as she bawled in the front lawn, dressed in very little. He called her so many names she had never even heard of before._

_She was sent to boarding school for the next couple of years, prevented from returning home until she changed her ways._

Rachel sat at her desk for what seemed like an eternity.

She finally opened up a browser window on her computer and looked up air fares.

Pffbt. Tickets to California amounted to highway robbery.

Still ...

...

... she didn't want to be left alone crying in the yard anymore.


	26. Chapter 26

The interior of the "Sexy Seven: Fine Jewelry and Watches" store was crisp and white, with a lightly varnished wood display case backed by mirrors on a side wall. An athletic Caucasian human man stood behind the glass counter, picking at his moussed black hair. He had glasses and a goatee. Kermit smiled as he entered the store. The man smiled as the small frog started browsing, but didn't say anything.

Kermit lightly tapped the glass and looked up at the clerk. "Pardon me," he asked, "what does 'chocolate diamonds' mean? They aren't really _edible_, are they?"

The clerk shrugged. "You can't ingest them," he replied. "It refers to the color. Are they for you or for someone else? LeVian has a very nice selection."

Kermit stared at the clerk. "It's, uh, for someone else?"

"Male or female?"

Kermit suddenly became extremely uncomfortable. He sighed, giving up and shrugging. "Have you heard of Miss Piggy?" He shook his head. "She has rather ... definite tastes."

The clerk retained a rather thoughtful look. "I haven't had the pleasure of selling her anything here," he noted. "Perhaps we can fix that. Did you have a range in mind?"

Kermit frowned. "You mean pricing range?"

The clerk smiled. "I don't like to insult my customers. Just think of it like this: each piece of jewelry should match the giver."

"Hey! I've been looking all over for you!" a tall pig with a glass of champagne in his hand announced as he stumbled into the store, staring at Kermit. "I just had a little – okay, a lot – and then you just disappeared on me?"

The clerk chuckled. "Does Samson know, Bobby?"

"Pshaw," Bobby replied happily, "he'll be back in a few. Arturrrrrro and … and … uh, Sssssamson, was it? Anyway, never mind: our man servant's picking them up at the airport." He placed his glass on the counter. "The way he drrrives, they'll all be back tonight." He glanced back at Kermit. "So … what've you decided on for Little Miss?"

Kermit's face scrunched up. He started to tremble. He finally lost all control. "_What is WRONG with you people? Is it too much to ask to have a single solitary moment that hasn't been plastered all over the internet? How would you like it if I just automatically knew every last thing you've done today? Do you people hate your lives so much you have to just spy, S-P-Y, SPY on others?_"

Bobby's jaw dropped. "Listen, greenstuff," he answered at last, "I'm not the celebrity butt-kissing type, okay? Unless I'm on a date, of course, heheh. Piggy's my … my … well, I know her, right? She talks about you absolutely obsessively! She just went psycho all over the airwaves with her own spin on your little outburst, and I completely agree! Only telemarketers should know what we do for a living."

Kermit breathed in and out loudly. After a few moments, he started to calm down. "Then why are you trying to buy her ring?"

Bobby smiled wistfully. He shrugged slightly, his voice quiet. "Everybody deserves happiness, Kermit."

* * *

Arturo sang to himself as he drove the limo towards Bobby and Samson's house. Lena, Foster, and Samson sat in the back, watching television.

The phone rang. Lena looked at Samson, shrugged, and answered. "Yes? May I ask who is speaking, please? Well, we typically like knowing ze names of ze callers." She looked at her watch. "Really? We can be zere in a few hours, I guess. Fine, whatever. We'll meet you zere. Tell Bobby 'ello for us."

Click.

"Who was that, hon?" Samson asked Lena.

Lena shrugged. "Some woman said Bobby'll be waiting for us on ze coast somewhere." She banged on on the glass separating them from Arturo, yelling out the name and coordinates of a location. She turned back to Samson, a wily grin on her face. "It sounds _tres_ romantic, Sammy," she told him in a sultry voice.

* * *

Rachel got off the plane and headed straight for the bar in the airport. Why she had picked the plane whose pilot couldn't fly in a straight line was beyond her.

Airport security gently took her arms.

"Hey, back off!" Rachel barked.

"Ma'am, you're wanted in our office," the security agent replied calmly. "Please come with us."

Rachel half-struggled the entire way, grunting her disapproval when they pushed her into the office.

"I honestly began to wonder if I did the right thing," an amused female voice noted.

Rachel turned. At the desk sat Moulin, resting her chin on her hands. She was smiling, dressed in a sequined blue blouse under a dark blue open jacket. Her hair shimmered under the lights in the office.

"What's going on?"

Moulin kept smiling. "I wondered if you were the jealous type. Someone flirted with me at the airport in New York. It gave me the inspiration I needed to say I was leaving you."

Rachel frowned. "This was some sort of … _prank_?"

Moulin laughed. "_I_ was amused."

"I'm _not_!"

Moulin's expression fell. Her tone grew serious. "Fate knocked on your door, Rach. I get so tired of seeing people hear that knocking and then go back to bed." She stood and extended her hand. "Take my hand, Rachel Kinderman. This is one dream from which you never have to wake up."

* * *

Piggy held her cell phone in her hand, staring at the text message, consisting of coordinates and the promise of a night she would never forget. She rode in the back of a taxi. She had looked up the coordinates on the internet and realized the place Kermie was sending her was a small coastline place, with cliffs facing the breaking waves of the Pacific Ocean.

A night together, underneath the stars … Piggy's heart leapt at the thought that he was planning some romantic interlude. Usually, she was the one who had to drag him on a date.

This seemed so unlike him.

Piggy sighed, mumbling to herself in song:

_Why do I keep wandering in my dreams today?_  
_Why do I keep seeming like so many me's?_  
_How can I be turned around so many ways?_  
_When will I know who I want to be_?

Piggy kicked the back of the driver's seat. "Hurry up!" she growled.


	27. Chapter 27

As the sun began to set, the northern side of the cove glimmered in speckles of soft light, like fireflies. The waves rolled past rhythmically and the flowers had not yet begun to close. There weren't signs of civilized presence in this area, just pristine nature. Thick light-barked trees swept upwards from the soil like solid brushstrokes. As the grasses swayed in the breeze, one could almost hear plaintive flute-like melodies whispering to any listener.

Kermit and Bobby arrived, both dressed in tuxes. Bobby leaned down and whispered, "You look hot, greenstuff. She won't be able to keep her hands off you."

"Sheesh," Kermit whispered back.

Stars began popping up here and there in the darkening sky. The glimmering lights floating around them mirrored the astronomical patterns.

Samson walked along a small trail, following the sound of crashing waves. Lena and Foster and Arturo followed him closely. Samson smiled. "This is … not Bobby," Samson noted to break the long silence.

"It's too … natural and out-of-the-way," Foster whispered, nodding. "There aren't any whips or chains around."

Arturo laughed, rolling his eyes. "We haven't arrived at the location, either, no?"

They finally ended up near the cliffs, spotting Bobby and Kermit the Frog, both decked out in crisp black tuxes, surrounded by what looked like glitter.

Lena glanced at Samson in confusion. "Why is zat frog zere?"

Samson couldn't hide his puzzlement either. "So much for the idea this is some romantic get-away."

Lena smiled. "Maybe he wants a witness."

"For what?"

Lena shook her head. "You really can be quite stupid, Sammy," she teased.

When they joined Kermit and Bobby, they introduced each other, chatting, wondering what was going on. Bobby wouldn't say much, just chuckling evilly.

At long last, Moulin and Rachel erupted in a dazzling water display just in front of the cliffs, landing gently on the rocky ground by the edge. Moulin hurried Rachel to the grassy area where the others were waiting. Wet rocks had a tendency to make the average hiker … disappear.

Everyone stared at them.

"Thank you, every one of you, for accepting our invitation," Moulin noted with a broad smile.

"Did you just _fly_ here?" Samson gasped, his eyes nearly popping out of his head.

"The important thing is to realize that every one of us is now in a position to take back that which was stolen from us."

"Is _everyone_ here?" asked Kermit, nervously.

Rachel stared at the Muppets and the … very … attractive … human woman standing behind the large brown bull. The woman winked at her and licked her index finger seductively.

Moulin kept smiling. "Let us begin the ceremony. You will find there is no priest, no minister, no rabbi, no judge … no one to give us permission." She inhaled deeply, as if absorbing the sounds of the area. "Only the soft melodies of magics known by me and desired by everyone. Just listen … and let it fill you … so that we can join our partners in _truly_ magical and holy matrimony."

Bobby grinned as he scooted over to Samson, who seemed nearly breathless as the soft melodies continued to synchronize the movements of the specks of light in the air, gently rising and bobbing and weaving to each and every note.

Lena started to sniffle. "It is such a shame we have nothing appropriate to wear. I guess ze Book was right … be prepared for ze wedding."

Moulin chuckled. "That book condemned those who did not arrive as they should, when the friendlier response would have been to supply the wardrobe so they would have a chance to participate." With a flick of her wrist, a small ribbon of mist twirled around Samson, Rachel, Lena, and Arturo. They gasped as each of them appeared in new clothes. Samson and Arturo wore highly-tailored black tuxedos, with blue flowers pinned to their chest pockets. Lena found herself draped in a light blue sequined sleeveless gown with a slitted hem on the right side, her hair sparkling with glued-on-like sapphires. Rachel wore a dark blue long-sleeved silk jacket over a blouse that shimmered in different shades of blue and green, her knee-length skirt flowing easily in the breeze.

Foster gawked at everyone, his face pale. He looked at his own clothes and glanced back up at Moulin. "I get to wear a T-shirt and some faded jeans?"

Moulin stared at him warmly. "Only if you know who you are, will you look like it."

Foster grumbled. He wasn't the fussy, fashionable type. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, feeling his clothes change texture. He looked down: he wore a dark blue button-down long-sleeved shirt and black dress slacks.

Kermit looked around. Bobby had told him this was his and Piggy's idea.

And she wasn't here.

"Isn't that pig friend of yours here?" Rachel asked sincerely, noting Kermit's anxious expression.

He hung his head.

Foster walked up to the group. Not so long ago, he had wanted to slap the frog himself for lecturing him about love when he couldn't even deal with it himself. And here this barely two-foot-tall amphibian was nearly making a dent in the earth, as heavy as his heart was.

_Listen, and hear what I have to say, for a change._

Foster stopped himself from yelping. He glanced around, looking for the source of the strange whisper he had just heard. He spotted Moulin smirking at him. Did she --?

Piggy, meanwhile, was running as hard as she could. "Blast high heels! Why couldn't Kermie … huff … huff … pick a nice parking lot to be romantic?" She dashed by a large tree along the trail, on which a brown sign hung with bold white lettering: Cantus Cove.

Foster felt an inner light well up inside him. He smiled and kneeled in front of Kermit. "Don't worry, Kermit," he said as he burst into a soft melody:

_She'll make you happy,_  
_Now and forever --_  
_Until forever,_  
_Your love will grow…._

Bobby took Samson by his hoof, peering deeply into his eyes and sang:

_He'll make me happy,_  
_Each time I see him!_  
_He'll be the reason,_  
_My heart can sing!_  
_He'll stand beside me,_  
_And now I'm everything_.

Lena placed one hand on her chest and wrapped the other around Arturo's.

Rachel, shrugging, began to sing as well, "_Days go passing into years_."

Moulin took Rachel's hands and wrapped her lover's arms around her waist. "_Years go passing day by day_."

They all (well, all but Kermit, anyway) started to sing:

_We'll be so happy,_  
_Now and forever!_  
_Until forever,_  
_Our love will grow_!

Kermit's eyes started to water. Soon he heard panting right behind him. He saw everyone staring at him, smiling and giggling. He turned slowly … to find Piggy, her casual dress transforming into a sparkling white wedding dress with light blue speckles here and there in the lacework, smiling at him.

She gently took his hand. "_I only know, he'll make me happy! That's all I need...to...know_...."

He returned a relieved smile, placing a solid gold ring with white and brown diamonds running along the center of the band on a gloved finger. He drew her near and brushed away strands of blonde hair.

Everyone would have exclaimed their happiness when Kermit and Piggy kissed, but the three long-lost … and newly-found … couples were far too busy enjoying each other to notice.

_**The End!**_

**Author's Note: The song in the previous chapter was from Fraggle Rock. And, seriously, if you don't know this most romantic of Muppet songs, I'd be ashaaaaaamed of yourself!**


End file.
